Vergil’s voice comes out as sharp as the razor in your hand, but he doesn’t move from his position at all, and as you cluck your tongue at him, you can see his arms shift slightly from their position crossed over his chest and shrouded by the old bedsheet you’ve tied around his neck like he’s in a real barber shop. But he doesn’t move, bare feet firmly planted on the ground even though you’re approaching quickly, a far too sure expression on your face.
“This isn’t a sword, calm down.”
“I am calm,” he replies.
He is, if it really comes down to it, but he’s shaking his head at you, a small frown on his face. You ignore it.
With the two of you in here, and Vergil sitting on a dining chair you’ve dragged in from the living room, the bathroom space is a little cramped, but you’ve already decided on the best position for this daunting task of shaving your lover’s face, and that’s straddling his lap, to his surprise.
“You can’t be serious,” he says, despite letting you sit, and despite hooking an arm around your waist as you settle atop him to make sure you don’t slide off.
Your hand grips his chin, a seductive graze of his jaw, and the second his eyes soften, slides upwards to grip his cheeks playfully.
“If you don’t talk, this will be safer for you.”
Muffled, he rebuts, “Reassuring that you have some consideration for my safety, after all.”
You squeeze harder in response, stifling a giggle as his eyebrows furrow even with his lips jutting out in your grip.
“Shhh.”
He rolls his eyes, but you let go, now reaching over to the adjacent countertop set the razor down, exchanging it for a soft brush coated in shaving cream. You dab lightly at first, and expect him to wince at the cold, but he doesn’t react, blue eyes focused on yours. Held for just a second, you then avert your gaze, focusing on spreading the cream all over the lower half of his face, then you pause, giggling again.
Like a statue, his eyes have never moved away from you.
“You look like some kind of weird snowman.”
“I look like I’m being treated like a plaything.”
You raise your eyebrows, feigning innocence.
“I’m giving you a premium treatment here, aren’t I? People pay dearly for such a service.”
He chuckles, his other arm settling around your waist, before he pulls you snug against his lap once more.
“Including this part?”
This warms you in a way that makes your nostrils flare just once.
You grab the blade quickly.
“Stay still. Don’t do anything sudden-” you pause, bringing the blade carefully and gently against his cheek. “-or silly.”
Vergil’s eyes crinkle again, and it’s one of the things that gives you too much joy, that you gave him the kind of smile that would reach his eyes.
“I thought I was being pampered. Now I’m being threatened.”
“It’s all based on your own behavior,” you quip. “Do what I tell you to, and we’ll both enjoy this experience.”
He raises his eyebrows once, but then stills, and you decide to begin, scraping gently at the surface of his skin methodically, carefully, getting so intense in your focus that it’s only after you’ve gotten the last edge of his jaw, even that very vulnerable area at the front of his neck that you feel criminal getting close to (but suppress an urge to bite), you notice a warmth that isn’t coming from you, growing between your thighs.
Your eyes widen.
“Are you-”
“Do you honestly blame me?” he replies. It’s meant to sound flippant, but it comes out too breathily. You suck your teeth again, about to murmur something about calling him pathetic but the second you set down the razor and reach for the aftershave, you’re being whisked away and quickly so, out of the bathroom.
summary: an unbearably human gesture to show that he wished you well. Prequel
warnings & contents: fluff with tEnSiOn (no other way to write it); Vergil is vergiling; flower gifting (with Vergil, definitely a warning); could be age gap, could be none; the reader could be any gender; no mentions of y/n
a/n: am having way too much fun writing for this man. As always, proceed at your own risk. Minors DNI! Masterlist xoxo
soundtrack: now that we’re alone — the people’s thieves
***
Whatever he was doing in that moment, it was not necessary. And anything unnecessary felt unnatural to him. After all, necessity had been at the core of his actions for far too long; it was ingrained into his very being for decades. Since he had become lost, since his childhood he pursued no desires—only needs. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have commanded the impressive power he wielded now. In his opinion, desires existed only to weaken human beings, and neither weakness nor humanity was something Vergil could afford to embrace—or truly wished to, given the circumstances. After all, greatness demanded sacrifice.
Then why, despite being unnecessary, did those visits to you—both promised and unspoken—start to feel so natural lately? He had far more important things to focus on than indulging his own curiosity while standing at your doorstep. He had always excelled at managing his priorities. So how could you, his poisonous desire, his deadly want, have become one? How did it come to be that you transformed into a need? A necessity.
In his world, necessities were meant to make him stronger—while you were meant to be his forbidden weakness. Now, in his world, you were a walking and talking contradiction. Uninvited. Yet, welcomed. Impossible. Yet, inherently natural.
“Vergil.”
You opened the door just moments after he knocked. Had you been waiting for him? Impossible. Yet, it might have felt natural for you. He was only beginning to realise that you might have foolishly waited for him like this many times before. At the thought of it, he felt nothing—at least, that’s what he wanted to believe in. Feeling anything else would’ve been unnatural. Dangerous. Forbidden.
In the meanwhile, you stared at him. You couldn't believe it, and both your facial expression and tone of your voice conveyed that clearly, unmistakably.
He wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad one.
“What is this?”
His gaze dropped to the object in his hand. Pale violet flowers, brought into a small bouquet, were cascading down his palm.
“Wisteria.”
“Why?”
He blinked at your question, his shoulders tightened. A wave of frustration washing over him. Why had he even bothered? He felt like an idiot, and he should’ve seen this coming. This was consequential, after all. He had taken the foolish advice of his equally foolish brother—and somehow acted on it. He should have known better.
You noticed his discomfort and shook your head gently. With his silent permission, you took the bouquet from his hands, admiring its simple beauty. He watched you with a hint of puzzlement in his furrowed brow.
“I’m sorry. That came out wrong,” you acknowledged softly. Naturally, you needed no explanation for why he brought you flowers. It was an unexpected gesture on his part, but common enough—though among humans. “Why wisteria?”
The puzzlement on his face shifted to surprise, and he seemed genuinely pleased. He hadn’t expected you to be this thoughtful.
“It represents good luck,” he replied, his eyes locked on you. “As well as long life and prosperity. I thought these would never hurt.”
He also chose wisteria because the very thought of bringing you something as vulgar as roses—like Dante suggested—was threatening to give him a heart attack. But he also wanted you to know that he wished you well, despite his chaotic presence in your life.
You hummed in response. “I see,” a smile tugged at your lips. “Thank you.”
He nodded, awkwardly lingering at the doorstep.
“May I come in?”
“Sure.”
You stepped aside, allowing him to slip into the apartment. He set Yamato down, leaning the sword in its sheath against the wall as casually as someone might drop a set of keys onto a table upon arriving home. Then he knelt to unbuckle the straps, removing the protective leather piece from his shin, and only after did he take off his shoes.
When he stood up from his knees, you had already placed the wisteria in a delicate vase and set it on the bureau in the hallway.
And now, you stood directly in front of him.
“Why?” you asked again, your voice quieter this time.
This time he could sense what was on your mind. Why had he returned?
“Because I promised,” he replied calmly, thinking it was obvious. He’d been many things, both good and bad, but he wouldn’t break this promise.
“You didn’t have to,” you insisted. He took a deep, steadying breath.
“I didn’t,” he admitted. As he had thought before, this wasn’t necessary. “But I wanted to,” he added.
Your eyes widened, your limbs froze, and your heart stuttered.
“I needed to,” he concluded at last, his eyes never leaving yours. His wants and needs had now intertwined, leaving him with a growing headache and a fearful pit in his stomach. Yet there were no regrets; he had enough of those over the past couple of decades.
You said nothing at first, the weight of his confession sinking in. At your silence, he thought of the worst, as he often did, so he muttered. “But if you don’t want me, I’d understand.”
You thought about it, then stepped right into him, encroaching on his cherished personal space as your arms wrapped around his waist. Caught off guard, he faltered under your affectionate touch.
This wasn’t supposed to feel right. Instead, it felt necessary. After a moment of hesitation, his hand settled on your back, pulling you closer.
“You thought,” you scoffed gently, a hint of approval in your voice.
vergil sparda x wife!reader. wc: reader wears skirts covered in pink from head to toe, vergil is such a softie with reader, reader meets dante and nero for the first time, all what nero and dante do is to be shocked. requested.
Vergil told you to meet him at the Devil May Cry office for the first time since you both met. He finally wants you to meet his family. So, you were eager to meet them that you arrived at the office early.
You opened the door to the office slowly. Vergil had told you that it'd be empty since they were all on a mission and would be back later, but you were met with shouts coming from two men. All look like Vergil.
"I told you!—" a shout from a younger looking man towards the older startled you. Now you get why Vergil didn't want you to meet his family until he finally became a bit closer to them.
"Uhm... hi?" Your soft voice and the clicking of your heels shut them up. Their heads turned towards you quickly, making them forget why they were fighting in the first place.
"Hey, how can we help you?" the older man spoke to you first, his elbow kicking the man beside him. "You—"
"Is Vergil here?" you asked, fixing your pink skirt under their confused stares. They both look dumbfounded, staring at each other with shock completely taking over their faces. Did you just say Vergil? How does someone as girly as you even know him?! “Uh, he might be here any moment now.” The younger man spoke while rubbing the back of his neck.
“Oh," you fidgeted with your fingers with nervousness as the younger man continued. "You can stay here and wait if you want—"
He got cut by the door swinging again, a tall, broad man entered the office. Your man.
"Love!" Your eyes lit up, a smile reaching your face. You walked as fast as you could with your heels and wrapped your arms around him. What the hell?
The men behind you froze, should they pull you away from him before he kills you? —No, it's too late. They won't be fast enough to prevent your death. The audacity you must have to hug the Vergil Sparda is- "hello, beloved."
Vergil's soft voice cut their thoughts. Vergil prepped his Yamato on the surface net to him before hugging you back, smelling your hair as he kissed the top of your head. "I see you've already met them."
You hummed in response with those goo-goo eyes Vergil can't resist, bringing your hand to his perfectly slicked back hair and messing up his hair —a habit you're used to doing whenever you see him. —, making it fall and some strands covering his sight. Yet, he didn't complain at all. Instead, there was a slight smile on his face. Vergil. Smiling. With a woman who's doing things people would get killed if they did it to him.
"Uhm... care to explain, brother?" the older man spoke up —which you assume is Dante and the younger one is his son, Nero—, reminding you that he and Nero are still in the same room.
Vergil’s smile dropped almost immediately, pulling away from you as he slicked his hair back. Vergil wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his side before speaking. "I'd like to introduce you to my wife, ___."
"What?!" they both yelled at the same time, making Vergil's grip around you tighten. They dropped all their questions to you all at once. How did you meet? How long have you been married? When did you get married? How the heck did you pull Vergil's heart? Looking at Vergil, all board and cold and heartless, being with a pink covering from head to toe, soft and a girly girl woman? This can't even happen in dreams.
"Enough. You're annoying both me and my wife," Vergil said sharply. "You don’t have the right to interfere in our business."
"You— the Vergil sparda that doesn't have a single empathy in his heart.— literally came to my office with a gorgeous woman by your side, who is your wife and you didn't even mention her ever to us, and you expect us not ask questions?!" Dante ranted, gesturing widely with his arms. You couldn't help but chuckle at what's happening in front of you right now. Vergil doesn’t really like his brother and son.
Vergil turned his gaze to you, softening as soon as it landed on you. And oh god, they noticed it immediately.
Dante can't help but smile. Even though he can't believe what just happened in front of his eyes, he's happy that Vergil found someone who cares for him and loves him deeply. Yet, he can't stand one more time entering the office and finds you both all lovey-dovey. He's still not used to his brother like that.
Warnings: fluff, slightly suggestive in one part, Uncle Dante, baby Nero
Valentine’s Day is… strange.
Not in the way humans make it strange with flowers and heart-shaped sweets and the insistence that love must be proven through spectacle, but strange in the way it has quietly crept into your home without you realizing it.
You notice it in little things.
A red ribbon tied neatly around a bouquet in the shop window as you pass by. A pink card slipped into a grocery bag. The way strangers smile at one another like they’re sharing a secret.
It isn’t your favorite holiday, not really.
But as you stand in the kitchen that morning, watching Vergil carefully adjust the collar of his coat like he’s preparing for battle, you realize you might love it a little more this year.
Vergil stands near the table with Nero in his arms. Your baby is wide awake, round-cheeked and curious, small hands grabbing at Vergil’s sleeve with a determination that makes you laugh softly.
Vergil looks down at him with a very familiar seriousness.
“…Your grip is improving,” he murmurs to Nero, as if this is a training evaluation rather than your infant son grabbing his father’s clothing.
Nero squeals happily.
You lean against the counter, arms folded, amused. “Are you going to start giving him progress reports now?”
Vergil’s eyes flick toward you. “Would that be unreasonable?”
You laugh. “Yes. He’s a baby.”
Vergil’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s the faintest hint of something in his gaze. Warmth carefully held like he doesn’t want it to spill out too easily.
“Even so,” he says. “He will be strong.”
You step closer, brushing your fingers gently over Nero’s hair. Soft. Downy. Almost unreal. It still amazes you sometimes, that someone like Vergil, a man sharp, composed and carved from steel, could create something so small and gentle.
Then a familiar voice calls through the wood. “Open up! It’s your favorite brother-in-law, here to bless you with his presence!”
Vergil exhales slowly. “Unfortunately.”
You grin and head to the door, opening it to reveal Dante standing there in his usual half-slouched posture, wearing a stupidly bright red scarf with little hearts on it.
Dante walks right past you, boots thudding on the floor. “So! I’m here to pick up the kid.”
Vergil’s grip on Nero tightens slightly. Nero lets out a happy sound, delighted by Dante’s presence.
Dante’s grin softens as he looks at the baby. “Hey there, little dude.”
Nero babbles at him while holding his arms out and leaning his body towards Dante.
Then Dante holds out his arms. “C’mon. Uncle Dante’s got you.”
Vergil doesn’t move.
You can see it on his face: the hesitation. The quiet reluctance. Like handing Nero over, even to family, is a trust exercise he hasn’t fully mastered yet.
Dante raises an eyebrow. “Bro. I’m not gonna drop him.”
Vergil’s voice is flat. “That remains to be seen.”
Dante huffs dramatically. “Wow. Rude.”
You gently touch Vergil’s arm. “He’ll be fine. Dante’s irresponsible, not incompetent.”
Dante places a hand on his chest. “That’s… actually the nicest insult I’ve ever received.”
Vergil’s jaw tightens, but finally, slowly, he lowers Nero into Dante’s arms.
Nero immediately grabs Dante’s scarf and tries to shove it into his mouth.
Dante laughs. “Yep. He’s definitely your kid.”
Vergil watches like a hawk. “Do not allow him to chew on that.”
Dante waves him off. “Relax. I’ll take him out, spoil him a little, maybe teach him how to say ‘jackpot’ as his first word-”
Vergil’s eyes narrow. “Do not.”
You snort, handing over Nero's diaper bag.
Dante adjusts Nero on his hip. “Alright, alright. I’ll bring him back later. You two go have your little romance date. Try not to stab each other.”
Vergil’s expression turns icy. “Leave.”
Dante laughs, backing toward the door. “Love you too!”
And then he’s gone, the sound of his footsteps fading away along with Nero’s cheerful babbling.
The house becomes quiet again.
Too quiet.
You stand there for a moment, both of you staring at the empty doorway like you can still hear Nero.
Vergil’s hand remains slightly raised, as if he expects to feel the weight of his son there.
You step closer, slipping your hand into his.
Vergil’s fingers close around yours immediately.
You smile softly. “You okay?”
Vergil looks down at you.
His voice is quiet. Honest. “I dislike being separated from him.”
Your heart aches a little at the admission.
Because he says it like it’s a flaw.
Like it’s something he shouldn’t feel.
You squeeze his hand. “It’s only for the day. He’ll be back before you know it.”
Vergil nods once, then exhales.
Then, as if to re-center himself, he straightens his coat again and looks at you with that familiar, focused intensity.
“You are ready?”
You grin. “Vergil, we’re going on a date. Not to war.”
His gaze doesn’t waver.
“I do not approach important matters carelessly,” he says.
Your cheeks warm.
Important matters.
Like you.
You lean in and kiss him, quick and soft.
Vergil freezes for half a second, still not fully accustomed to affection given so casually, but then his hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer.
The kiss deepens slightly, gentle but deliberate, like everything he does.
When you pull away, he watches you like you’re something rare.
“…Yes,” he says, voice lower now. “I believe I am ready.”
You learn this the moment he takes you into the city.
He doesn’t bring you to a loud restaurant or some flashy event. Instead, he leads you down quieter streets, away from crowds, toward places that feel more personal.
A small bookshop tucked between buildings.
A calm café with warm lighting and soft music.
A park where the trees are bare but beautiful, the air crisp and clean.
You walk beside him the whole time, his hand never leaving yours. It’s subtle, but you can tell he’s making an effort. Staying close, matching your pace, occasionally glancing at you as if to make sure you’re still there.
It’s not possessive.
It’s protective.
And… affectionate, in his own way.
At the café, you sit across from him with warm drinks in front of you. Vergil’s cup is untouched at first. He watches you instead, as if the act of being here with you is the real indulgence.
You tilt your head. “What?”
Vergil blinks once. “Nothing.”
You narrow your eyes playfully. “You’re staring.”
“I am observing.”
You laugh. “Same difference.”
Vergil’s mouth twitches into an almost a smile.
Then he reaches into his coat.
Your eyebrows lift. “Oh?”
He pulls out a small box and places it on the table in front of you with a quiet sort of reverence.
You stare at it. “Vergil…”
He looks away slightly. “It is… customary, is it not? To give something on this day.”
You open the box slowly.
Inside is a pair of earrings. They're silver, shaped like small roses, simple but elegant. They look expensive, but more than that… they look chosen with care. Like he didn’t pick them because they were flashy.
He picked them because they reminded him of you.
Your throat tightens. “These are beautiful.”
You reach across the table and take his hand.
“I love them,” you say softly.
Something in Vergil’s eyes shifts.
A softness he rarely lets anyone see.
“…Good,” he murmurs.
You slip the pair onto your ears.
Vergil watches, then lifts your hand slightly, pressing his lips to your knuckles.
The kiss is brief.
But it makes your entire body warm.
“You’re being sweet,” you tease quietly.
Vergil’s gaze sharpens, but not coldly.
“I am capable of sweetness,” he says.
You grin. “Sure you are.”
His thumb strokes your hand once, almost absent-minded.
Synopsis: You thought he was gone forever - your closest friend, your promised future, lost to the shadows of your shared childhood. But when Vergil suddenly returns from the dead, everything you believed shatters, forcing you to confront the fragile line between love, loss, and the darkness that binds you both
Warnings: this is heavy angst to fluff y'all but it's still Vergil, language, hurt, death
Since Vergil didn't really show up in the anime, I based him off descriptions from the games so you're totally able to read this no matter where you come from <3
You remember the summer air in Red Grave like a ray of sunshine in a bottle - golden, endless, and warm enough to soften even Vergil's sharp edges while sitting next to you, watching how you made yourself a necklace out of dandelions. Back then, he wasn't the son of a demon or someone who held great power.
He was just Vergil. Your Vergil, to be exact. The Vergil who'd pluck wildflowers for you when he thought no one was looking. The Vergil who once whispered a promise beneath a wisteria tree.
"One day, we'll get married. When we're strong and old enough to protect each other."
“But isn’t marrying you gross?”
“You would be glad to call me your husband!”
“I don’t want to marry a boy!” you insisted back then.
Oh, how often you dream of that day, how disgusted you felt by the thought of marrying him. And now? Now his voice haunts you in your sleep.
That sweet promise cracked the day Eva died, when the world decided to not wait for you to grow strong and older.
You clung onto Dante for dear life, his hands keeping you from stumbling out of your hideout like his mother insisted on. But Vergil was nowhere in sight. Not a hint of his spiky white hair, no scream, no shouting.
Absolutely nothing but smoke. Only the rubble and silence where he should have been. And when the ashes settled, so did the story: Vergil was gone.
Vergil died just like his mother did and broke his promise.
“Wake up, smartass.”
Your eyes dart open out of instinct, hand catching Dante’s palm mid-air and preventing him from stuffing a noodle into your nose.
“Can’t you act normal for at least a day?” you mutter still sleep-drunken, still haunted by young Vergil underneath that wisteria tree.
“And what’s the fun in that?”
You sit up slowly while rubbing your face, heart still pounding from the fragments of your dream. The phantom echo of Vergil's laughter fades slower than you'd like. You stare at the couch cushion for a moment too long.
"Another one?" Dante asks, quieter this time.
"Same dream. Same damn tree..."
Dante sighs, settling on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, arms draped over his knees. For a second, he looks like he might say something serious, but then he perks up slightly, his smirk returning.
"Tell me he was wearing something ridiculous. Like that cape he insisted made him look majestic."
You blink, then snort at the memory of their constant fighting about that ugly ass cape.
"No, sadly. Just regular Vergil. No overly dramatic fashion statements."
"Damn. Missed opportunity. Guy had more flair than a Vegas magician."
He nudges your knee gently.
"Still, dreams like that? You’re just hurting yourself at this point, (y/n)."
You glance at him, lips pressed into a thin line. You know he’s right, that you should’ve said goodbye for good a long time ago. But you simply can’t. Vergil was your best friend, one of the best advice-givers, at some point even your fiancé. How are you supposed to forget about the fact that you’ve had all your happy moments with him by your side?
"I keep wondering... if he were still here, what would he be like now? Would he still be quiet, moody, obsessed with strength? Or would he have softened out a bit? Maybe even laugh more. God, I want to know if he’d still fight with you over dumb stuff so that I can bet on who wins. If he’d still get all flustered when I tease him."
Dante laughs under his breath, his gaze drifting over you.
"He probably would. And he'd pretend he wasn’t enjoying a second of it. Real stoic-like. Probably reciting Shakespeare to hide the blush."
You lean back, hugging a cushion to your chest while Dante gently places his hand on your knee. This is not the first Vergil-talk both of you have. After all, all that’s left of him and Eva are the memories both you and Dante share.
"I still see him sometimes, you know? In the corner of my eye, or hear something that sounds like his voice. I think... I think I just never got to grieve properly."
Dante looks down for a second, then brightens a little.
"Yeah. Me too. But hey, want a distraction? Got a new gig. Weird demon cult popping up. Real creeps. Apparently into collecting old artefacts and sacrificing goats or whatever. You in?"
You blink, then give a shaky laugh. From Vergil to goats?
"That's your big pitch to get me out of my funk? 'Demon cult and goats'?"
He shrugs, grinning.
"Hey, it worked, didn’t it? Better than crying into your throw pillow all day. Plus, you get to shoot things. Cathartic as hell. And the best thing: I’m there as well."
You roll your eyes, but your smile is a bit more genuine now, your mind slowly but surely drifting back into reality.
"You're such an ass."
"Yup. But I'm your ass."
You chuckle to yourself while pushing Dante ever so slightly. Even though he’s so different from you and Vergil, you are more than thankful to hang around with him. With your old memories, with your old friend, with that one part of your life that didn’t break.
Would Vergil look like him, though? You take in the rough edges of Dante’s face, the way his white hair clings to his forehead, the tight muscles underneath his shirt, the way he smiles at you.
“What if he would have stayed, if we were stronger? If we were enough to protect him, like he said?"
Dante sobers up a little, tapping his fingers against your knee.
"Don't do that to yourself. We were kids. It wasn’t on you. Or me. Or even him."
You exhale shakily, a trembling breath caught between sorrow and guilt.
"I just miss him so damn much."
Dante gives your knee another light squeeze before getting up and signing dramatically.
"I know. But hey... this job? It's a little more than your average goat-worshippers. People are saying something big's brewing. War-level big."
You tilt your head.
"War-level? Seriously?"
He nods, the playfulness fading just a bit.
"Red sky, ground cracking, demons tearing through the streets...C’mon. We’re not losing anyone else if you’re out there to help. I’m taking good care of ya. Now stop acting like an evanesence song and get your ass up.”
You finally laugh, real and full. Maybe he's right. Maybe it’s time to keep living - not to forget, but to honor. Vergil wouldn’t want you to feel down for the rest of your life because he died – only a few years at last. Maybe saving the world with Dante again is a good start into a better day.
“Fine smartass. But only if we’ll be back by seven with a pizza.”
“Check.”
“We definitely won’t be back by seven”, you hiss through gritted teeth, barely able to escape the fangs of a demon and a bullet at the same time.
The world you know just made a trip to literal hell. Dante? You have absolutely no clue where that guy is. What you do know though is that a) apparently Dante’s father was a demon, b) someone just opened a portal to Makai and c) the president himself wants to kill you.
A pretty intense way to start a new life.
You sprint through the ruined remains of Fortuna’s cathedral, gun in one hand, blade in the other, screaming his name.
“DANTE!”
No answer, only more chaos with every step you take through the ruins of the city. A shriek rips through the air as a fireball explodes beside you, tossing you against a column. Blood trickles down your temple, but you force yourself up, staggering toward what looks like a trail of red - a coat? No, just more blood.
Your heart races. You’ve never seen demons this frantic, this scared. They’re running - not charging. Running from something worse than themselves.
Then you see it: airships, marked with human military insignia, dark against the torn sky. Bombs drop like heavy rainfalls. Not on the demons attacking you - on everything, on everyone who just stand nearby.
But with one big target: Makai. The ground below opens and screams rise from every direction. They’re not just killing the monsters you always take care of, the ones who kill humans without thinking twice, without caring at all. You see a young demon, barely more than a kid, clutching a broken flute and staring at a collapsing home. He’s not fighting, he’s not a threat. But he gets shot at least a hundred times anyway.
“No,” you whisper, horrified.
“They’re not fighting, they don’t defend. They’re erasing.”
Your hands tighten around your weapons. Even though you work as a demon hunter from time to time yourself, this is wrong in so many ways. There’s absolutely no justification in killing innocent souls, in killing children.
Children like Vergil back then.
You turn. You charge. Not away from the bombs but toward them.
You fire, dive, shield the innocent, cutting through falling rubble and corrupted soldiers. Screaming at commandos to back off. Saving those who once would’ve torn you apart.
It doesn't make sense. It shouldn’t be this way, you shouldn’t be out there defending demons. But you know wrong when you see it. And this? This is wrong. The demons look at you like you’re insane and yes, maybe you are. But maybe insanity is what the world needs to survive this unnecessary war.
"Where the hell are you, Dante?" you mutter, parrying another blade.
"You better be doing something epic, or I swear to god, I’m kicking your ass when I find you."
Through the choking smoke and scattered debris, something flickers.
White. Hair.
You freeze, your breath catches in your throat. Finally. After hours of searching for that walking disaster, he finally made it. Maybe Dante knows the cause for all of this mess, maybe he’ll be able to put an end to this senseless fighting. You sprint, heart leaping, lungs burning, screaming.
"DANTE!"
You push past collapsing beams, leap over shattered pews, tearing toward that flicker of white.
He turns. And the world stops.
It's not Dante.
It's Vergil.
He stands tall in the middle of ash and ruin, eyes locked on you with a gaze that hasn't changed - icy, intense, and unmistakably him.
"...Vergil?" you whisper.
He doesn't answer. Just stares. Alive. Real. And your world tilts.
You drop your blade.
The war, the screams, the fire - it all fades in the face of the ghost standing before you.
The ghost who broke his promise. The ghost who came back.
It can’t be him, right? It can’t be the boy who died in that fire years ago, that boy who vanished without a trace and was never found.
“And was never found…”
The air around you, everything inside you, suddenly snaps. You dart towards him, over the debris, over the blood of countless innocent victims. None of it matters right now. Nothing but the man standing in front of you.
Is this the man you loved, the man who left you behind, who never made any effort to get back to you? Is it really him, Vergil?
“You better tell me you aren’t the real Vergil”, you cry out, furious eyes scanning his face for any imperfection that gives this cruel joke away.
Is it a demon, maybe?
“And even if you are-“
SLAP.
Your palm smacks against his cheek full force and sends his head flying to the right.
You can’t catch your breath, can’t form a single logical thought. This has to be one of your nightmares again, a hallucination caused by a demon. But the sting of your hand tells you otherwise.
The sting of your hand tells you more than urgently that the man standing in front of you is real.
“You never came, never called. You never fucking thought about me!”
Fuck, you hate the way your voice breaks, hate the tears starting to sting in your eyes, slowly but surely taking your sight. Crying is pathetic and was never your style. But seeing that man who is the same height as Dante, who has the same features as Dante, who has the same hair color as Dante, breaks something inside you apart.
Because deep down you already know. Because deep down, you don’t need him to tell you that he’s real.
You know it is Vergil.
Vergil’s head slowly turns back toward you, cheek reddened where your palm struck, but his expression unchanged - calm, unreadable, like a storm behind glass.
“You don’t cry,” he mutters softly, as if the words should be enough to stop the tears.
That breaks you. Completely.
You shove him. Hard. Harder than he expects. He doesn’t move an inch, doesn’t even take a step back under the force of your arms.
"Don’t you dare," you hiss, voice shaking, torn between grief and fury.
"Don’t you dare pretend you know anything about me anymore. You don’t get to stand there with that stupid fucking stoic face and say that like it means something!"
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t interrupt. Just watches.
"You left me! You left us! You promised… You promised, Vergil!" you scream, fists balled, trembling.
"Under the fucking wisteria tree, remember? You said we’d get married when we were strong enough to protect each other. We were kids, and you still made that promise like it meant everything - and then you left!"
You're pacing now, wild, unravelling.
"Do you know what it’s like to keep having the same goddamn dream every night? To wake up thinking you’ll see your best friend smiling like an idiot, only to find nothing but smoke and silence again? To keep Dante from breaking and still break yourself anyway?"
He’s still silent. His hands stay at his sides. His face? A goddamn statue.
“I waited. Years, Vergil. I kept looking, hoping you'd show up like it was some big stupid test of strength you were going through. But you just vanished. No word. No body. Just... gone, dead. And now you're back? Just standing there like you never left? Like I should be grateful to see your miserable face after I thought you were killed?"
You’re panting now, your voice raw. Tears fall freely, your whole body trembling as your lungs fight for air.
Vergil finally moves. One step forward.
Too much. Way too much for you to endure right now
You stumble backward, one hand against your chest, like holding your ribs together might stop the panic from ripping through them. Your vision blurs, the edges of the battlefield curling like burning paper. Your knees threaten to give way, breathing fast and shallow.
"Don't… Don't come near me," you whisper.
"I can’t…I can’t-"
He takes another step, then stops only inches away from you.
“I couldn’t see you,” Vergil begins, voice low and even, as if he’s explaining something dull.
“You were always my only weakness. I couldn’t afford it. You would have destroyed every plan I built with a single touch.”
You blink at him, mouth parted. The words don’t make sense in your head, don’t even reach you fully. His weakness? His plans?
He continues, eyes colder now, more distant.
“And if you must know, I never cared for you that much anyway. Not like that. You were a... childhood comfort. A sentimental distraction. Nothing more.”
The air in your lungs turns to glass.
You stare at him, the man who once braided wildflowers into your hair and swore to be your husband, who pulled you close when no one else dared.
You stare at him like a stranger.
Vergil doesn’t move.
Doesn’t flinch.
But his fists are clenched so tightly, you see his knuckles whitening.
And behind his unreadable expression, something trembles. Just for a second. Something small. Something regret-shaped.
„You’re as terrible at lying as ever, asshole.”
Another ruthless slap straight across his face.
“’Your childhood comfort’? This is what you call me? A distraction? Are you even listening to the bullshit you’re spitting around?”
Without thinking twice, you grab him by his shirt and yank his head towards yours.
And then you kiss him.
Your lips crash into his like a weapon, like a question, like a final plea. There's no grace in your touch - only anger, only desperation. You’re trembling as you press yourself against him, as if contact will stitch your soul back together. You hate yourself for kissing him. You hate him for letting you without fighting back the slightest bit.
But you can’t stop. Your hands are fists in the fabric of his shirt, your entire body lit up with the raw, electric need to feel something that isn’t loss, that isn’t war. Something that is just Vergil.
You expect him to push you away. You want him to, even. You want him to confirm that this was a mistake, that you’ve built an illusion around a dead boy who never came back for you, who doesn’t care.
But he doesn’t. Vergil doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch - at first.
And then he does.
He exhales something low, broken, like he’s giving in to gravity, to guilt, to you. One hand rises slowly, hesitant, like he's touching something sacred and cursed at once. It settles against your lower back. Not possessive, not demanding – grounding, ensuring, encouraging.
His other hand comes up to your jaw, fingers trembling just slightly. He tilts his head and finally, he deepens the kiss.
That’s when the rage leaves you. Not all at once. But enough for the sorrow to come crashing in, for the desperation you felt each and every night.
You gasp into him, and it’s a mistake, because it opens the floodgates. Not of tears - you’ve cried enough to this point. But of truth, of how much you still need him, of how real this still is.
His lips move against yours with a quiet intensity, controlled and precise like everything Vergil ever did. But there’s a quiver in him, a falter in his breath, and it breaks you even more.
Because he’s scared too.
Because he never stopped being your Vergil, even if he buried that part of himself so deep it almost died.
You feel it in the way he presses closer, how his fingers dig into your back, how his jaw clenches like he’s keeping a scream locked behind his teeth.
He holds you like a man who’s been starving.
He kisses you like he thinks this will be the last time.
And that’s what makes it unbearable.
You want to scream at him. You want to melt into him. You want to forget what he said, what he did, the years you spent building your life out of ashes while he disappeared into shadows.
But the heat of him, the taste of something you thought you’d lost forever - it’s real.
Way too real.
You finally pull back, breath hitching between your lips, forehead resting against his. Your eyes squeeze shut. His hand hasn’t left your face, yours still clutch his shirt holding on for dear life.
“Do you really think I left without keeping my eyes open for you? I always knew that even though you were with Dante, you were safe. I made sure nothing happens to you.”
Your breath is still tangled with his when he pulls away, slow and reluctant, like parting hurts more than he’ll admit. His eyes linger on your lips for a fraction of a second longer before he straightens, composed once more, his expression folding back into that unreadable, distant mask.
But this close, you can see it. The fracture in the armor. The grief stitched into the corners of his mouth. The longing he’s trying, rather failing, to hide.
Then he says it. Flat. Quiet. Honest in the most infuriating way:
"I never stopped. I couldn’t. The path I’ve chosen... it demands sacrifice. You. Dante. Everything."
You jerk back slightly, stunned by the cold clarity of his voice, by his words that just don’t make sense in your head.
"So that's it? You chose this? Everything, us, was just a casualty?"
His jaw tightens.
“Don’t simplify it.”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing.”
Your voice cracks like glass under pressure of rough reality.
“Turning all of it into a clean, cold cost-benefit analysis. I wasn’t a number on some fucking list, Vergil!”
“I know,” he replies sharply, the simple answer cutting through your anger like a blade.
He’s breathing hard now. Not from exhaustion, but from restraint. From trying to keep everything he’s feeling in check. But oh he fails so miserably at the moment, standing in front of you while almost devouring you with his eyes.
“You were... comfort. Peace. A weakness I couldn’t afford. And I hated myself for needing you.”
You laugh bitterly, swiping a hand across your face.
“Well, congratulations. You got strong. Alone. Mission accomplished.”
For a second, the tension spikes again - until his hand finds your wrist, fingers curling just tight enough to keep you from backing away again.
“I’m not here to be forgiven,” he mutters, eyes narrowing like he's trying to memorize you.
“I didn’t come back for that.”
“Then why did you come back?"
Silence. Heavy. Awful. Devouring.
“Because I knew I would see you. And I needed to know… if there was anything left. Of you. Of us.”
You stare at him in utter disbelief. He was always this cool and composed, always looking for that higher aim instead of listening to his heart like Dante and you tented to.
“What would you have done if there wasn’t?”
He doesn’t blink, doesn’t make a single move.
“Buried it. Like everything else.”
“God, you’re exhausting.”
A ghost of a smirk tugs at his lips - small, controlled, but it's there. It vanishes almost immediately when he catches sight of your burning eyes though.
"I’m still going through with it. The plan. The throne. The power I’ve sought - it’s within reach now. And I can’t afford distractions.”
You nod slowly, jaw clenched.
“Then you’re still the same Vergil who ran. Just with more scars.”
He leans in, and you hate the way your pulse flutters, hate the part of yourself that still aches for him, still knows every breath he takes like a second skin.
“I may be the same,” he whispers, “but I remember what you said. That day. Under the wisteria. I didn’t forget it.”
You exhale shakily.
“Then why are you doing this? Why keep walking down this road?”
“Because I have to. But don’t mistake that for indifference.”
You close your eyes, your voice barely audible.
“I don’t forgive you.”
“I know.”
“But I still... care.”
“I know.”
You open your eyes again, and his hand slides down your arm, slow, hesitant, until his fingers brush yours. He doesn’t take your hand. He just lingers there, waiting for you to move.
You don’t take his either.
But you don’t walk away.
“Don’t you dare thinking I’ll let you walk away like that, I’ll haunt you down and kill you myself if I have to.”
He let’s out a shaky laugh – an unusual sound for someone as composed as Vergil.
“I am counting on that.”
Bonus:
You shouldn’t be here.
But do you have another choice when none other than your former-friend-now-kinda-lover decided to hold his twin brother hostage who happens to be one of your only friends? Not really.
You creep through the building’s underbelly, heart pounding loud enough to echo. You know Dante’s alive. You can feel it. He always bounces back, even if his opponent is Vergil.
And gods, do you need him to.
You find him chained - arms spread, shirt torn, breathing heavy but alive. He grins when he sees you, his eyes shooting towards you in an instant.
“Didn’t think you were dumb enough to come and get me,” he comments with a wince.
“Guess I was wrong.”
“You were,” you snap, shooting the cuffs off with practiced aim. He collapses into you, heavy and warm.
But before you can catch your breath-
“He’ll be here.”
You both turn.
Vergil.
Stillness spirals around him like smoke. That same unreadable calm, hiding whatever hellfire he’s buried beneath his skin. Yamato is sheathed, but that means nothing. His presence alone could kill if he wanted it to. And yet your heart almost beats out of your chest in sheer excitement.
“I should’ve known you wouldn’t run,” he declares to you.
His voice is quiet, wounded, in a way only you can hear.
“You gave me no reason to stay,” you reply, lifting your chin.
“Still,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “you came back.”
“I came for Dante.”
Your lie cuts both ways. He flinches, just slightly, but it's enough for both you and Dante to clearly notice. Oh, how much you’d love to wrap your arms around that jerk, to kiss him the way you did back then on the battlefield. But that’s not what you’re here for. You need to get Dante out of here before worse things happen. And Vergil definitely won’t let you get away with him that easily.
You pull something from your pocket. Small, round, smooth. The perfect distraction.
Vergil tilts his head as you hold it between your fingers - silver glinting under the broken light.
“What is that?” he asks.
You toss it to him. He catches it without thinking, his eyes fall to the object in his palm.
A grenade pin.
His head jerks up.
You’re already moving.
“Marry me,” you call, voice like gunfire wrapped in silk.
“Or get the hell out of my way!”
And before he can process the words, you grab his collar, stand on your toes-
And kiss him.
Fast, soft, stolen like the moment you never got to have. The promise of something buried under everything broken. His lips are cold but they don’t pull away.
He doesn’t move.
But you are forced to.
You shove him back, grab Dante’s wrist, and run.
“Did you just propose with a live grenade?”
Dante whistles as you both sprint for the gate, laughter catching on his tongue.
“Hey,” you shout back, “he likes things that blow up in his face.”
Behind you, Vergil stands rooted in the dust and echo, grenade pin clutched in his hand.
And the barest trace of your kiss still burning on his mouth.
Kay, but like, Vergil, who's dating someone who loves books. Maybe the romance ones you see online, or the clasics like dracula, the strange case of Dr Jekle and Mr Hyde. Even other genres like horror, fantasy, thriller, crime ect.
Just think about it.
The rain gently tapped on the window, but the gentle vanilla sent roamed the air as you were sat on the couch, book in hand and nose deep in the book. The plot was thrilling as one man had two personas, one a doctor, the other a killer. It had you on the edge of your seat, wondering if he's ever going to get caught.
Vergil wondered in, silently as he usually does, to find a quiet space to read his poetry. He found you in silence, not bothering to notice him. He sat next to you, making sure not to bother you, and took his leather bound book out and began reading next to you.
It was nice being alone when reading. Distractions are a risk like someone trying to talk to you or them scrolling on their phone at a not so moderate volume. But vergil, the only sound he made was him turning the page. He brought a sense of comfort and company as you read, like you weren't the only one reading the book.
It's so cute to think about just two bookworms sitting in silence, reading their book.
I was wondering if you could do a part 2 of Nero's adoptive mom and Vergil, please? It can be any scenario you want! Thank you again!! ☺️
mother dearest pt 2?!!?!
wc: 1175 (short, oupsi!)
warnings: my bad writing, english not my native language, this is fluff, vergil might be ooc?, fluff galore!
a/n: IM BACK? sad news my fellow vergil lovers, leon kennedy has me in a clutch, so i havent been in a vergil mood in... a whiiile, and with the re9 announcement... hoo boy! im in shambles and i need leon carnally. this was sitting in my drafts for, like, two months now? sorry for the wait :/ its subpar but i tried so... enjoy? comments, rbs and likes are appreciated<3
You woke up, in a sort of daze. Your dream had thrown you off so bad, something about your headphones being dunked into bleach(???) and you remember being mad as hell that you'd have to buy a new pair again. Vergil's arms around your waist tightened subconsciously, maybe he was having a bad dream? You buried your face in your pillow, willing yourself to go back to sleep.
Right as sleep was blurring your mind again, you felt him stir awake against you, one of his hands coming to rest above your heart.
(He had to be sure, he told you once.)
“Vergil?” you whispered, voice thick with sleep.
“Apologies for waking you up, sleep on.”
“Are you okay?” The worry was evident in your tone, you turned to face him a little..
“I am… fine,” but he held onto you tighter.
“Mmm, this is nice,” you mumbled, face buried into the pillow again. A soft hum escaped him, his voice low and reverent “it is.”
His fingers were tracing slow patterns against your tummy, as if he was memorizing every inch, and the feeling of your skin against his.
After a few more moments of quiet, you moved in his hold, choosing to lay on his chest. “You didn't wake me up, by the way.”
He sighed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. One of his hands, the one not around your waist, was combing through your hair idly. “I thought I was being subtle,” his voice was low, as if he didn't want to disrupt the quietness of the room.
You huffed a laugh, moving your hand up, to rest it above his heart. “Oh, you were, I wouldn't have noticed if I wasn't already awake. I had a weird dream.”
He hummed, tone playful, “oh? And what sort of dream would that be?”
You described it to him, deflating against him slightly, irritation about thinking you'd have to buy a new pair of headphones again (you had already bought a new pair last month, Nero having stolen your old ones and ruined them, bastard son (that you loved))
His hand against your hair paused for a moment, you knew he was holding back a laugh at how ridiculous this all was. “Headphones in bleach… a nightmare indeed.”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, I really thought it was real, I swear I was sooo mad.”
He hummed again, a hint of amusement seeping through, “next time I'll retrieve them before they sink. Or burn the bleach away. Whatever's necessary.”
“If you burn the bleach away wouldn't that also ruin my headphones?” you were pouting, he knew it.
He let out a soft, almost exasperated sigh, "I suppose… you're right. Hm.”
Comfortable silence fell between you two once again. You let it be for a little while, enjoying this cozy moment. “Oh! Right, what woke you up? Bad dream?”
You felt him tense up at your question, but you felt him shake his head ‘no,’ his movements resuming. You didn't want to push him, he'd tell you when he was ready.
“I just needed to make sure you were here…” he finally said.
You took a deep breath, looking up at him, “well, not many places i can go, this is my day off, after all.” you smiled, to reassure him.”Besides, why would I ever want to leave my own personal heater?”
He chuckled and tugged lightly on your hair in retaliation, but you knew he wasn't annoyed. “I am not your personal heater. I am a son of Sparda, a half-demon, not some… radiator.”
You laughed, he could be so silly when he let himself drop the ‘mysterious and nonchalant’ facade.
“You’re… irritatingly clingy.”
You scoffed, “and you're not?!”
Vergil grumbled, almost offended at the mere suggestion, "I am nothing of the sort, you are the clinging one.”
You smiled, clearly amused, “oh? Should I un-cling then?”
His hold on you tightened once again, tugging you somehow even closer, "don't you dare. You're staying right here.”
You burst into a fit of giggles, “see? Clingy!”
You could feel him pouting against your head, probably sulking at you winning this little ‘argument.’ “Hmph… I prefer ‘tactically secure’ over clingy.”
You started laughing again, only making him sulk more. “You are mocking me.” he stated, making your laughing increase in volume, “hmph, stop laughing."
You gasped, “are you pouting!?”
He hid his face in your hair, muttering a defiant ‘no,’ his attempts at maintaining his facade failing horribly. “You can be such a baby sometimes,” you giggle, prying him off your neck and kissing him softly. He hums in approval.
Just as you two are kissing, the door to your room bursts open, Nero coming in, winded “mom dad isn't in his-”
His sentence gets cut off, realization hitting him at seeing Vergil, in your bed, cuddled against you, kissing you. “Oh,” was all that came out of his mouth as you and Vergil separated from each other at lightning speed. You both had decided to keep your relationship a secret from him, just in case things went bad between you two. You both wanted to keep him from being upset if things didn't work out. But it had been a while since you two decided to… y’know, be a thing.
Sneaking around had been fun, too, so maybe that was also another reason for keeping him in the dark.
The awkward silence was somehow deafening. That is until Nero burst out laughing.
“What's so funny?” Vergil asked gruffly.
Nero wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, waving his arm around wildly. “I knew it! I fucking knew it! How long has this been going on?”
You clear your throat, scratching at the back of your neck, smiling awkwardly. “A while?”
Nero comes to sit at the foot of the bed, flopping down unceremoniously. “Why didn't you tell me!? This is amazing!”
“We, uh, didn't want you to be sad if this didn't work out…?” you shrug. Nero sighs.
“I’m a big boy, you know? You don't have to worry about that.”
“We just thought it was what would be best.” Vergil speaks up.
“I can't believe I was worried about you having disappeared again, only to find you in here. Unbelievable! You two are in biiig trouble,” Nero jokes.
“I can make your favorite breakfast? Will that get us in your good graces again?” you pout, playing along. Nero beams at you, already up and making his way out of your bedroom, muttering an ‘I’ll wake kyrie!’ before he's out, closing the door behind him.
You sigh in relief glancing at Vergil, suspiciously quiet. “That went… well?” you shrug.
He huffs, laying back down and bringing you into his arms, head resting on his chest. “It went as well as it could have.”
You smile at him, placing a small kiss at his jaw, before getting up and going to the bathroom. It was going to be a long day, but you wouldn't have it any other way.
A feeling of intense longing for someone or something.
Walking into your apartment, you quietly close the door behind you and release a soft sigh in relief. Walking into your kitchen, you glance at the clock on the stove, it reads 6:53 am. Just barely an hour after your shift ended, setting the keys in their special small bowl, and purse on the counter close to the wall, next to your other bowl, which is much larger and supposed to hold fruit, but currently holds an asleep cat. Petting him gently, as to not wake him you turn and walk out of the kitchen, into the living room towards your shoe rack to take off your shoes.
Groaning softly, you lean down to begin unlacing your shoes, once that's finished you stand straight again, wincing at the pop in your back and quietly kick off your shoes near the rack, you take your jacket off as well and drop it onto the rack, too tired to put it in it's proper place. Pivoting, you begin walking towards your bathroom, where the pajamas await. Walking in, flicking the light on and pulling the door to, You begin peeling off your scrubs, setting them haphazardly on the edge of the dirty clothes bin, hoping they don't fall. Tugging on a tank top, some shorts, and fleece socks. Exhaustion tugs at your mind, and your thoughts begin to drift a bit, thinking about how as of recent, it's been colder outside when you leave in the evenings for work, the leaves feel cold when they brush against your ankles as you tread through them.
The cold is something you rarely worry about at home now, not since Vergil moved in a few months ago. Having asked him initially felt a bit awkward, explaining that you thought it could give him some space from Dante, and… That his presence in your home was something you enjoyed quite a lot. Shutting off the light and closing the bathroom door, you begin shuffling down the short hallway to your shared bedroom.
Gently, you push open the door, you do a once over of the room, noticing that the lamp on Virgil's side of the bed is still illuminated. Then you see Vergil, curled up on his side, with a sweater of yours (namely, its the one you wear constantly at home, your favorite) pressed between Virgil's head and his pillow, nose pressed into the fabric. You barely manage to stifle your giggles, a hand pressed to your mouth as the other is used to gently close the door behind you.
Quietly walking over to Virgil's side of the bed, you go to turn the lamp off, hearing as the nob clicks once, then twice as the room goes dark. Now navigating a pitch black room, you feel your away around with your feet to your side of the bed. Lifting the blanket, and as silent as can be, climb into bed and pull the blanket over yourself. Tucking your legs, and Turning to lay on your side to face Vergil, you admire Vergil for a few moments. Albeit you have to squint and lean forward a bit to do so, but you still admire none the less.
Reaching a hand forward in a tender manner, you go to sweep some of his hair away from his eyes and feel as he grabs your wrist in a firm but soft grasp. Feeling as he turns your wrist and kisses it, eyes remaining closed. You hum in content and whisper "How long have you been awake?" still squinting at him in the darkness.
All you get in response is a grunt, and feel as he lets your wrist go. Huffing a laugh you mumble, "A grunt isn't an answer love.". Again you're met with a grunt, much quieter this time. Hearing the bed shift, Vergil stretches his legs, and you can feel as Vergil grabs you by the waist with one arm, pulls you closer into his chest and leans his head against yours, with his nose in your hair. Sighing as you accept that Vergil's not giving verbal answers this morning. You throw a leg over his waist, and curl an arm around his back, while the other tucks itself between your pillow (where part of your sweater is still laying) and your head.
Nuzzling your head against Vergil's for a moment, you exhale and feel as the days' labor catches up fully, body sinking into the mattress like lead, relaxing with sleep fast approaching. Vergil's hand comes up behind your head and begins running his fingers through your hair.
After a few moments of this, you're on the cusp of sleep and right before it consumes you unable to catch what Vergil murmurs before you fall into a deep sleep.
