Hear me out dawg; Vergil x reader right? BUT Have Vergil and Reader be messy post break up or divorce or whatever then have reader basically fall completely in love with V before V becomes Vergil again then drama ensues. Forgive me, I just started playing Dmc 5 and I'm feelin frisky as the kids say.
This took a ridiculously long time, but I hope you enjoy <3 This was so fun to write.
Kiss With a Fist
Vergil x reader / V x reader (he needs more love)
Word count: 3.5k
Warnings: Blood + flirting Violence
masterlist
Freelancing as a mercenary could never hope to fund a single weekend of your single life. Thankfully you weren’t Dante. You weren’t messy. You set your own prices, and generally speaking, overcharged. But that was the joy of such a career, the scum that sought you out could never hope to do what you did. Providing the contractual liberty to push your own income into the six digits.
Dante just couldn’t sell himself, understandably so.
You’d been to Devil May Cry.
Future psychologists would weep with the opportunity to study such a specimen.
Regardless, today was your day off and you were going to make the most of it. Starting with the mall. Making a clear dive for the closest jewellery store, they treated you like royalty, complimentary this and that practically falling into your pockets. The doorman knew you by name, he was sweet, and had a daughter that took ballet classes. Bleeding his wallet dry. He loved her enough to put in the extra shifts. The woman you requested had your drink of choice memorised, she would hold up precious stones and match them to your eyes. Showering you in polite smiles and compliments that warmed your skin.
You paid in cash every time, convinced they either believed you to be a hooker or a sugar baby. It didn’t matter. It didn’t cure the hunger for something new, something you didn’t have.
Heels clicked on the marble floors as your bags swayed lightly in your hands, stalking your next victim. ARMANI, or VERSACE…No, you needed something stronger. Fur. Something with fur. Yes, the summer was rapidly approaching but you could stay inside with the air conditioning, why should the weather dictate the survival of a good outfit?
In such a determined pursuit, the floor went unnoticed. That was until it erupted with Empusas. They’d tunnelled under the building, breaking through two levels to reach you. Not that they were targeting you in particular, but it sure felt that way when their bloodied claw ruined your branded bag with three droplets of human secretions. Namely, blood. On your white DIOR bag.
Fifty dollars of your hard earned money, for nothing. Wasted. There was no way you could use that lipstick now. Finger itching for a trigger, you scratch that itch. Reaching over your shoulder, for your baby. Vendetta. A little last minute birthday present Dante regrets forking over. You loved it more than anything in the world. Currently, that feeling was extended to the demon realm as you used it to sever the two hemispheres of an Empusas' brain.
She was long and thick, just how you liked them. A rectangular blade with thorned ends, perfect in every way. Twirling the sword within a devil’s intestines, it was in the midst of battle you realised the second level had begun to collapse. Throwing up your bags, they catch on the steel bars within the exposed foundations as you fall. The world slowed while watching them from below, haloed by the sun streaming in from the glass ceiling. At least you could save something.
You didn’t scream, landing on your feet. Luckily avoiding the rubble, but not the dust. Reaching out an open palm to your side, the bag falls from above. Returning safely to its rightful owner. Vendetta was resting at your feet, as you made sure to brush off the dirt from your shoulders and hair.
A sigh escaped you at the sound steps. More steps meant more demons, that meant more of your time. Unpaid. Time. “Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.” A voice announces from within the aftermath of your battle, a spectator. The first thing you noticed was that he appeared human, not as an intelligent demon. He was young and tall, frightfully pale to an anaemic degree, also rather handsome.
Familiar. Startlingly so. As if the air itself had your heart aching and knees shaking. Your eyes fell to his cane, circling around a collapsed fountain to shorten the distance between you two. He could feel your sharp eyes latching onto his figure, he found that he liked that attention all too much. “William Blake?” You asked, knowing the answer. He smiled back at you, dipping his head down so that his hair curtained such a sight. A shame, you would have liked to admire it a little longer. “That’s right,” his voice soothed, despite the chaos around him.
He was scared, you could tell. Not from the demons, but of you.
Understandable, you couldn’t find it in you to be offended. However, most people would have escaped by now. Especially with the mess, one you happened to have caused. So he must have known you, he must have been looking. With every step you took forward, he took back. Widening the gap. You made sure to keep him in sight, not allowing the mountain of crumbled stone to block your view. It was like he was trying to hide. You wouldn’t let him.
He must be shy.
“It’s been a while since anyone’s read poetry to me.”
That wasn’t meant to sound so sad, it was just the truth. The man stopped, letting you get close for a change. “Maybe ‘someone’ should,” you couldn’t help but feel like this conversation was meant for another. Tightly gripping his book in one hand, cane in the other, he continues. “There’s a job.”
There was always a job.
Sitting on the edge of the drained fountain, you lean forward, fiddling with the straps of your bags. You don’t give an answer just yet, still curious. “You should introduce yourself before getting all professional like that.” He chuckled, sinking unexpectedly into a deep bow that didn't quite reach the floor. The words, “Forgive me,” are spoken almost intimately in a whisper.
Here of all places, amongst evaporating corpses and infrastructural damage. Dusted lightly in blood and grime. It was there he took your hand, not to shake it, but to press a blushing kiss into its spoiled skin.
“You can call me V.”
Red Grave City had been looking worse for wear these last few days, it’s surprising what a demon invasion could do to the local military. The place was a free for all, never short on combat practice. Nico’s gas budget had doubled by the end of the week at least. You’d stuck close to the rug rats, checking in regularly after scraping the city clean, especially since Nero tended to overestimate his own ability. Only as soon as you left that van everything had seemingly sprouted back up from the roots, as if you’d never left to begin with.
It was getting out of hand.
V would often separate himself from the others, granted they were not the most sociable people themselves, but you liked to think of him as a friend. ‘Colleague’ could not explain that relationship, far from it, what was expressed was nothing short of a medieval courtship.
He had gotten himself into trouble again, doing his best to get in between Nero and Goliath, which was about as effective as offering the boy a paper shield. Luckily, the sound of buildings collapsing was hard to ignore. Before the beast could use V to floss his ‘tummy teeth’, as Nero had called them. You’d taken him in your arms like a princess, and put a few yards between him and the demon.
“Dying all by yourself, handsome?”
He does his best to hide a smile, “an end I will inevitably face, evaded once more thanks to you.” You release him back to the ground, but his touch lingers for a moment. Long enough for Griffon to get jealous at least. “Oh yeah! Sure, like the rest of us did nothin’.” The overgrown bird lands weightlessly on the man's arm, you approach with a gentle hand, offering your gratitude. “Thank you for taking such good care of him, you know I think V would be really lost without you.” You grin, stroking down the bird's fluffed chest, inflated with pride.
“She gets it”
Griffon falls forward into the petting, forfeiting over your muttered praises, “such a pretty bird.” V is leaning heavily into his cane, sighing out “You mean high maintenance?” Not expecting it to tug a laugh out of your chest, collecting heat in his neck that travelled up to his ears and cheeks.
“Let’s get you back to the others.”
Kicking open the van door, Nico yelps, almost falling out the driver's seat. Cigarette loosely caught between her lips. “God damn, V. What chewed you up for dinner? Nero’s been lookin’ all day.” She takes an arm and helps lower him down onto the sofa, he hisses, joins popping loudly. “He’ll be fine, just don’t let him off the couch.” You were running on borrowed time, every moment you spent here was another second you could have spent looking for Dante, or Lady, or Trish.
Moving back, V catches your arm, using it as a tether to pull himself back up. Unsuccessfully. “Evil lurks, it is imperative my mission is complete.”
“Where do you think I'm going?”
Slamming the door tight, the van is left feeling empty. Nero returns soon after, only to find V hogging his spot, book open and resting on his chest. He retreats to the passenger seat, boots dirtying the dash. Nico is up again, having microwaved some mac n’ cheese for their sleeping comrade. Only, curiosity got the better of her. Unable to resist sneaking a peak at whatever poetry could possibly interest V that much.
It wasn’t the words her eyes landed on first, it was you. Lots and lots of you. Drawings, sketches. Detailed and scribbled. “Woah! Is that…?” Her mouth hangs open, muffling a huffed laughter that catches Nero’s attention from the front of the van. V is awake in an instant, glairing and reaching forward with intent to snatch his property back. “Release it at once.” He didn’t have the strength to yell just yet. Sighing, the younger Sparda boy makes his way over, leaning over her shoulder. “Nico stop being – No way.”
“Yes way. Our own dark and brooding prince charming.”
They share a look, chuckling. Flipping through the pages in rapid succession. Griffon chips in helpfully, “Princess charming.” Nico shoves the book into Nero’s arms, moving to defend V, like the honourable knight she was. “Shut it, little chickin. I’ll get the skillet. I will!” Nero was simply taken aback, he’d known as long as Dante, never once had he ever seen you express any interest in anyone. Man or woman. “V how have you had time to do all these? It’s practically every page, and I thought Nico could obsess.”
“It’s called art, you’d know that if you had any sense of style.” She used her hand to flip her hair in his face, basically whipping him. “I still don’t know what Kyrie sees in you-” V cut in smoothly, head throbbing with voices and aches. Mostly light taunting from faceless figures.
“Enough. Please, your squabbling is not appreciated.”
“Awww, Nero. Look how red he is. Like a lil’ freshly fed vampire.”
“I am not-”
“Oh yeah, that is a lot.”
You arrived deep into the night, careful not to alert those inside. V was exactly where you’d left him, staring over dazedly from his pseudo bed. The front seats were empty, so Nero and Nico must be out together. If they weren’t back by the time you woke you’d go looking, but exhaustion was inevitably catching up. “I dream of you,” sleep smoothed over his words like polished stone, softer in darkness. The only light left was from the dulled streetlights streaming in through the windows, you were beautiful. Sight felt like a gift for the torment his own mind put him through.
Kneeling beside the bed, you move the dark hair blocking his face. “What kind of dreams?”
“Happy ones.”
“Good, your happiness is well earned.” Fighting was a sacrifice you all had to make, and V was getting weaker, so he fought the hardest. Naturally, you expected it to be the other way around, but he was a stubborn one. You’d abandoned the idea of getting a fair wage. A forgivable sin since your employer was actively decaying. V hadn’t told you why, still holding onto his secrets. You didn’t pry, enjoying him while you still could. It was stupid, you knew that.
It was unavoidable. Love. Not that you resisted completely. The tides were too strong, it was nice, letting him pull you in like that. All that was left now was the consequences.
“You took the body of an angel, and within, found heaven.”
“Did you join me?”
“Pardon?”
“In heaven. I’m sure you wear the skin of an angel, even now.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
He groans, spine crackling as he stretches. Sitting up soon after, faces meeting closely as he did because you didn’t dare move away. V didn’t mind. “Tired?” Taking up the space next to him, you sank into the cushions. He nods and you open yourself to him, using a hand to pat your lap as an invitation. As one would a small dog or cat.
“What are you doing?”
A good question.
“Welcoming you to heaven.”
The man chuckles under his breath, face stained with a steaming blush that melted his sleeplessness completely. Especially once his face was cushioned by your thighs. “Softer than I imagined.” V believed this to be better than his dream, something he’d been craving for a long time, perhaps even before his birth. With your hands in his hair, it was only a matter of time before he slipped into unconsciousness. Hand slipping under the limp to take hold of the squidgy flesh on the other side and pull it closer, like a pillow, with the space between your thighs also doubling as a handwarmer.
Nico and Nero return a little later, regrettably walking in on the scene. “The hell?” Nero almost gags, not before the southern girl has her elbow in his ribs. Whisper-yelling a giddy, “pay up asshole.” He scoffs, pulling out a scruffy wallet, flicking through the bills tediously. “They couldn’t wait another two days.” She’s all smiles, holding out a hand expectantly. “I’ll be taking that, thank you.” He slams the bet money down into Nico’s palm, sulking off to the front of the van, knowing she’d join him eventually.
The next few days are nothing short of hell on earth, with the Qliphoth and demons raining down on the city, V continues to weaken. Trish and Lady are freed and Dante goes off on his own, followed closely by Nero, yourself, and then V. His familiars beat you all there, combining with Urizen at the last moment, delivering him fractions of V’s soul and returning Vergil to his human form.
You didn’t like the way he was looking at you.
“Vegil.”
He remained silent, glancing over as Dante placed a hand on Nero’s chest and took a deep step back. “How was hell?” Asking put a bitter taste in your mouth, not refreshing, but sickly and thick. “Pleasant. It was warmer without you there.” He was smiling. Why was he smiling? Your feelings towards him were made clear during your last battle, sending a clear message.
Or so you thought.
“I’m going to feed you your own small intestine now.”
“So be it.”
He took his stance, hand reaching for the Yamato. Still watching you, with a giddy amusement. As ‘giddy’ as the man was able to express through his eyes at least. The flashing of teeth behind his grin told you he was hungry to disrupt the peace you’d made in his absence. Nothing had changed.
The personified human half of your husband had arrived too late, the battle had already begun. Dante turned on his heel, “Hay, you’re still kicking around.” Nero showed his concern more clearly, “V?” There was a thunderous clap in the sky as you were buried into the vined floor, quickly digging yourself out of the crater it had made and meeting Vergil in the middle. Swords connect and he moves behind. Too close to swing Vendetta, so instead of steel, his jaw is displaced with the weight of your fist.
V falls to the ground and Nero tries to follow the fight but everything is moving too fast. Blue flashes of light blocked out most movement, any longer and he was sure you’d be ripped apart. “Dante, he’s going to kill her!” The younger brother was clapping, whistling like the proud audience member he was. “Actually, I think he’s losing. I wouldn’t worry about it, they always go easy on each other.”
Planting your hands on the ground you kick up, lodging a sharp heel into the older brother’s neck. His spine bends back, Vergil grabs your ankle and doesn’t let go. Kicking down, the rest of him follows. Still attached. Utilising his own foot to push back, using your stomach, blood covers his front and the cavity created soon heals. The hardest part of his skill meets your teeth, separated only by a now gushing lip. A motion he inflicts repeatedly, until you move to the side and pull out Vendetta.
He moves to feel the area around his collar, fingers brushing over the disrupted skin underneath. You pant, bent over and dripping from the face. He tugs off his cravat, sighing. You hoped it was to disguise his own breathlessness, rather than disappointment.
“Why do you insist on failing?”
“I’m not the one with a stain.”
You’d made sure never to spill any of your bodily messes on yourself, the plant could take a small sip of your blood if it meant keeping clothes clean. Though that goal seemed pointless given how many times your back had been close to broken against the floor. The dirty floor. The plant that would leave grass stains on your knees like an aggressive rugby match.
“It’s already healed, can’t say the same for your lip.”
“Were you always such a prick or do I just have terrible taste?”
“You were Dante's friend before my beloved, so I can only assume so.”
Huffing, your attention is recaptured by V. He’d collapsed next to Nero, and was in the worst state you’d ever seen. Skin flaking off into dust, covered almost completely in cracks. He couldn’t hold on much longer. You also couldn’t let him go without saying goodbye.
“Vergil, time-out.”
The man laughs bitterly, sword sheathed, arms crossed. “Why would I respect the rules of such childish folly?” His glare was stern, not unloving. “Vergil.” You pretend you didn’t see the eyeroll directed your way. He mulls it over for less than a minute, strangely malleable, in comparison to his usual contrarian pig-headedness. “How long is time-out?”
“Until I time-in again?”
“You have five minutes.”
Taking a step closer, you stare into his eyes and offer a honeyed smile. Vergil does not move. He watches as you reach to hold one cheek and press a kiss on the other. It was the stillest he’d been since the fight began.
He seemed frozen.
Taking an arm, when you threw him to the side, the man hadn’t realised how close to the edge of the Qliphoth platform he was. He doesn’t cheat, not activating his devil trigger.
That would be punching down.
So when he catches himself on the braided vines a few hundred feet down, the man begins his ascent.
Dante was leaning over the edge, shouting words of patronising encouragement, mixed in with genuine taunting, down to his brother. Nero was watching over V, using his folded jacket to make the dying man somewhat comfortable. You were kneeling, holding hands tightly. Muttering, unable to hold back the weepy tone in your voice, “can’t you stay?” Shaking his head, he whispers “If a thing loves, it is infinite.”
Vergil returns to your side abruptly, addressing V directly, “I see you made yourself at home.” V winces, arm shaking as he reaches for the devil above.
“Cruelty has a human heart, and jealously a human face.”
“You will know neither.” They embrace, and you are alone again. He picks up on your silence, not enough to wipe away your tears. “It was not cruel, he is a part of me and has returned to his rightful place.”
“I did not say it was cruel. I miss him.”
“Me”
“Yes, I missed you.”
He stops breathing when you look at him again, offering a hand, you take it. Unable to let go a second time.
“You threw me off the Qliphoth”
“I’m not going to apologise."
“I was impressed.”
“...thanks.”
Dante lingers behind you both, “Is it safe to enter the lovers quarrel yet?”
“Silence!”
“Shut up, Dante!”
The red leather wearing doofus backs off, hands held high as he retreats. Then Vergil does something unexpected. Hands still linked. He takes a knee. “I would like to apologise for the pain that I have caused you.” You shy away from verbal confrontation, having taken out a sufficient amount of your grievances through violence. “I would like to hit you some more.”
Vergil smiles, offering helpfully, “the time-out is over.” Shrugging, you drag him back up, choking his ribs in a python-like embrace. One he returns with equal force.
