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bloodcasket · 1 year

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FOR YOU, I SHALL DESTROY MYSELF

PAIRING: Obsessive!Vergil Sparda x GN!Reader

WARNINGS: NOT PROOF-READ, alcohol consumption, stalking, obsession (obsessive behavior on vergil's part), possessiveness, acts of ownership, mentally unwell reader, submissive reader, sensual themes, smut (lightly written), murder, violence, small blood-play.

WC: 7,481

DESCRIPTION: To save yourself, you make a deal with a demon.

11:35 PM ; DECEMBER 31st ─ THE DEAL.

Eyes are watching you, sparing simple glimpses through each passing second. Irises and pupils that become distorted and ugly as they peek through wine glasses, the color glossing over with a crimson hue. The vision feels judgmental, full of ridicule. Too many people huddled close, speaking in hiccupping boasts. Everybody here wishes you gone. They're all watching, smiling. Smiling at your failure.

The air is pungent, reeking of sweat, and of rotten musk. People are slicked over, kneeling over the bar's countertop, sloppy lips molding over one another while with a lazy smile. You swear you feel the graze of an unwanted hand across your back, but you had mistaken it for a waft of air coming from the entrance doors. The breeze comes just as quick as it goes, you wish you could have drifted with it.

How embarrassing of you to slouch forward on the marble countertop, and draw nervous breaths of panic, thinking that someone had fancied you of all people tonight. How wrong you were. That’s how you had always been, for no one cared for your presence. Just another breath that got lost amongst the others. Another squeak that was overpowered by a shriek.

You want to scream, want to shout, “stop it all!”, but then you catch yourself with a quick breath, and it all comes crashing back down on you. The eyes are looking, yes. But at you? Never. Maybe it was the thick atmosphere, the bustling bodies, the cheers of the new year arriving upon the hour. Maybe it was this that made you feel so anxious, so afraid. So alone. No one by your side.

No one was holding you at this hour, kissing you happily until you saw the clock strike 12. Is that what this is about? You couldn’t understand. You were not blissfully drunk, rather pitifully intoxicated, your mind foggy and your conscious drawing blanks. Your senses were locked, your emotions deepened from the shots of vodka.

Is that what you wish for? For someone to long for you? Arrive right at this location, this exact bar, in hopes to see you?

Why did you come here? How pathetic you were, standing here isolated, swallowing glasses of alcoholic beverages that you found rather disgusting, and all for the hopes it would ease some cracking that formulated inside you. To dull the sharp edges of your ache, your sorrow. It did rather the opposite, only tended to the embers that now rose to flames deep within your soul.

“I must go”, you whispered solemnly, but you did not know who you were whispering it to. Mostly yourself. A woman gives you a strange glance as she hears you mumble to yourself, thinking you're completely hysterical.

I must go, I must go, I must go. You did not need to leave, you only wanted to. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't, but stubbornness is a passion, and you were quite stubborn.

Your movement is quick, unnoticed when you escape away from the public and into the darkness. The atmosphere is light now, fresh, natural as you embrace the cool night. The air is still damp from the rain that soaked the Earth a few minutes ago, but you don’t mind the puddles that soak into your pants as you hustle through them. You would rather thank the chilling water that grows slick upon your calves, the sensation of it easing your heated skin. You prayed it would sober you up, save you from this spinning world of madness.

It's much better to feel this, you think as your drunken state leads you stumbling into an alleyway. Much better to be away, in the darkness, where you belong. Sheltered, and untouched.

You stumble once more and swallow up a whimper as you feel a twist in your ankle, your shaking hands reaching forward to grip sturdily on the brick wall. Your nails flick against the rough surface, growing tarnished with every daring step forward. You were shocked you hadn't fallen yet, but the sprain in your ankle only mocks you, tells you ‘just wait’.

This night, right now, you were to go home.

Had you known any better, you would have prevented a thickening curse that looped into your life just brief moments from now. But instead of caring about your future, you carelessly dawned on the past. Letting a drunken wail tumble down your lips and echo amongst the abyss of the alleyway, not a shroud of light in the distance.

Where do I go? Do I go home? Who will take me home?

Another stumble. You sniffle.

Where are my keys? I can’t see, my eyes hurt. My head aches.

There’s still no light to be seen. Snot bubbles in the blacks of your nostrils, pooling forward.

I shouldn’t have drank. I'm so stupid. Please help, someone help me.

There is a sound of hissing.

“Yes”, you sigh, voice hoarse and groggy. You presume it must be the sound of a car, albeit the sound of a rattling engine that has just been powered to life. To you, it must be a sign you're near a street. You will ask someone to give you a ride, take you away from this area of mental wreckage, and bring you home. Home? You shake yourself for a moment, brushing the confusion away as you keep pushing your legs, turning a sharp corner and searching the best you can for a gateway of exit.

What you find though, is not a chance of escape. It is a street, indeed, but there is no one in sight, no voices to be found, not even the guttural hiss that you swore was an engine. Nothing. Only the copper scent that permeates the air. It is too dark, and too close to midnight for you to make out any colors or hues, only shades and glimmering objects underneath the moonlight.

There, laying upon the gravel, a puddle is slick amongst the road, soaking into the indents of the asphalt. Just like the other rain puddles, you thought the same as this, but as you near it, one thing only becomes clear. The scent. The puddle. The moonlight. The darkness. The hissing. The street.

It is clear now, it is clear. It is the scent of death. Slick upon the road in front of you lay a fresh pool of blood, not yet yielding the hue of brown, rather, crimson. It was new. A new murder. The body is limp, a man that had streamers once grasped firmly in his palm, you could tell as you knelt to examine him. He was most likely late to a new year's party, but now he will be late to any other event in life. His life was cut- taken by the grasp of death.

Your mouth felt dry, your tongue tasted nothing but sour.

Across his bloodied shirt, skin is parted, flesh jarred open like cutting a piece of paper apart with scissors. His laceration is deep, and his organs are no longer holding, being that someone- something has slashed him so thoroughly. His face is colorless, pale, solemn. He was young, he could have had a purpose.

Your heart- you think it has stopped. You take one last look at his lifeless palm, streamers still spread across it, before rising and daringly twisting on your heel, heaving a dry lump down your throat with a solid gulp.

It is only then that you understand, you should have been home. Shouldn’t have gone out. Shouldn’t have been here.

You knew you had done wrong by turning on this street, but the audacity you had to try and run. No one, especially the drunken likes of you, can escape an inhumanly being. But you are stubborn, and you are pitiable. You are by no means an athlete. You are by no means an agile contortionist. You are by no means an intelligent and stable specimen. Only fragile, and weak. Ready to be shattered, like glass.

You are limping with your sprained ankle, and your breaths are erratic as you hear it snarling from the skies above, the hissing- the ecstatic and primal bloodthirst in its howls becoming known as it leaps from the rooftops, crawling down the brick of the buildings and knocking down street signs in its treacherous wake.

You do not last; you had expected this much.

You are taken down by one powerful blow from its elongated arm, sharp like a blade, and as red as the blood you had seen on the street. The creature bounces thematically, so quick to pounce whenever it wishes, its speed and agility making you tremble. Its skin is like armor, rough and built like a shield, you are no match, you are just a human.

“Oh god”, you squeal, its blow not landing on a fatal position on your body, but rather, an area that makes the experience more tortuous, and grueling. Its blade-like hand has swooped through the air and slashed across your arm. You are quick to start bleeding, the wound so deep your body caves in, but you attempt to put pressure on the gushing area with your shaking palm, the salty sweat you leak only makes the ache worse. Your tarnished nails are now drowned with red.

“Oh! Oh”, you cry and cry, not capable of formulating words, but it's not like anyone would hear you now. The creature smells you, draws your scent in. It seems to play with you, revel in the way you squirm and sputter whimpers amongst the concrete. Smells your purity, your innocence. You smell amazing, and delicious, and delectable, and so much better than the man it had originally planned to feast upon. It has decided to play with its food.

You have stopped your attempts to scramble away, you are too weak. Still intoxicated, slightly sobered from the adrenaline that has pulsed within you. Your ankle is still sprained, and your feet are blistered beyond repair. Now, you leak your bloody essence from your arm, and you sob desperate tears, the whites of your eyes now a shade of pink.

Who am I, anyway?

You blink, the demon draws closer.

I shall die here, won't I?

It swipes its blade across your leg, the unharmed one. You scream dryly.

No one will save me...I am doomed.

The monster licks away at its weapon, hissing in glee at your taste.

No one. I have no one. No purpose. I will die here. Yes, I will die.

It brings its arm in the air for the final blow, and you watch without fear, seeing the glint it beholds underneath the moon's luminescence. You are ready. Even through sorrowful tears. You are ready to die here, so beautifully, under the moonlight.

But the blow never reaches you, and the sound of its howl echoes through the air, up and down the street, reaching every space, every crack, every pit of darkness. Its shrill is a sign of its defeat, and you watch in horror as a sword has pierced through its body of armor, tinted with red and black. With much haste, the weapon is sheathed, its slice sounding slick as it pulls out from the demon's flesh, letting the villainous thing fall flat on the street, fallen victim to the same act it made on the young man it killed prior.

You had been so ready, but now here you sit, staring ahead with a curiousness come about your dampened eyes, pupils dilating at the sight of a man. You make out his figure, his face, his weapon, even all through your blurred vision. You had made him out to be aged, his precision with his sword showing experience, but the smoothened, porcelain-like skin he had made him appear youthful. He is beautiful, stunning beyond reason. His majesty standing before you. ‘How old may he have been?’ you found yourself wondering, just as much as he found yourself to be ignorantly staring. A glint about his sharpened, light blue eyes. So light and mysterious that they could resemble gems.

“How ungrateful” the man speaks, his voice is so proper, and yet you make out a scowl from his words, his lips curving to produce a grimace. His jaw is solid, and sharp when he speaks, full lips soft and plump when they frown at the sight of you. You must have looked foolish, for he eyes you with judgement.

“Not even appreciative for the saving of your pitiful human life” he speaks once more, airy, and soft, but it still pierces your soul. “What have you to give?”. His appearance is comparative to his speaking. Monotonous, and yet striking. Dressed in a blackened leather vest, blending into the sheen of his leather pants clad on him, sculpting him out like a shadow of the night. If it wasn’t for his whitened hair, he would be unnoticed, one with the abyss.

You shift for a moment, stained fingers dismantling from your tainted flesh, letting the blood feel cool amongst your skin. You do not move as much as you wished, as once you move your feet to shuffle upward, you wince and pipe out a squeak of agony. You had forgotten the demon tore up your leg, too. You glance upward to catch his eye, to look at him properly, and catch a slight flare of his nostrils, like he had been smelling the air. His adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and you watch with a distrusting expression. He must have been disgusted by your injury, because the glint in his eye becomes something different. Something you cannot describe. You had mistaken it for being censorious.

“What-what can I give?” you stutter with your words, your speech impaired and jumbled from your prevalent fear, “I...I have nothing to give you. I do not know if I even have a home” you shiver under his predatory gaze, his entirety nothing short of intimidating. “But I have called...I have no one, but I still called. I thought no one would come. But you came. You saved me-you...you-you saved my life. Thank you-” you cut yourself short, your cheeks flush and your breathing growing unstable from your rush of words.

You cannot tell now if you are still intoxicated, still swayed by the alcohol, you do not think you are. You think your emotions have just been bubbled up inside you for so long, that now when you speak to this mysterious savior, you only speak with earnest desire. The desire that has been trapped and hidden.

“I cannot give you anything but myself, I want a place to belong, please, please do not think me foolish. Please take me away, please, I beg of you- I have nowhere to go- no one-”

“Correct- you are a fool. I save you, and you cannot give anything, but yourself. I will kill you now, strike you down, and what purpose will you have?” He tampers with you, watches the rise and fall of your chest, the quiver in your failing body. He has not tucked his sword away safely, for it stays sheathed, and pointed at you. He ushers it forward, letting the weapons tip just barely graze your breast, right above where your heart lay beating wildly in your chest.

“You misunderstand”, he moves a little closer, his coat ruffling along with the passing wind, “I do not save souls, I take them. What has your human life have, that will be of any importance to me?”.

‘That is why he must look so young’, your thoughts are so disorganized, ‘he is a demon himself. Come here, to fight amongst the other demons for his prize as the winner. The king’.

He watches you so closely that all you wish for is to cower away, but how can you? You have no choice but to swallow and look up at him. The same desire in your eyes burning. The same glint in his eyes unreadable. You have yet to know his name as you speak so confidently:

“Then take mine! Take my soul! You have saved me. I will be yours, I swear it. Just take me-won't you? Please, it hurts so much”.

He does not smile, doesn’t even scowl. He only stares, and stares, and stares, his nostrils flaring once more, and his adam’s apple shifting with his intake of a gulp.

You feel a sudden burning sensation rise amongst your arm, and you close your eyes amidst a wince, but when you open them again, he is gone. He hadn’t agreed to your deal. He hadn't even expressed his distaste about it. The strange, and hauntingly gorgeous man became one with the night again, dissipating into the darkness.

There is a sound of sirens arriving in the distance. It is barely distinctive from the blaring pops and explosions that erupt in the sky, the colorful fireworks looming over the city, signaling the new year has arrived.

‘What has your human life have, that will have any importance to me?’, his voice still echoes in your head.

You hadn't even learned his name.

You haven't even learned how important promises may be.

11:35 PM ; DECEMBER 31ST ─ DREAM OF A DEAL

To be a troubled man is one thing.

A man who has had too many tragic events to corrupt him. Make his sanity crumble into dust, to be nothing more than an unrecognizable memory. A man who witnesses everything he loves disintegrate into nothingness, fall past the webs of his fingers, even though he made sure to clench his gnarled hands into fists, to desperately keep close what little he had. He would take in everything as a young boy, see faults to be his own, taking in the blame and guilt, swallowing in the darkness.

To be a demon is another.

A demon who does not care for the strangled screams of the innocent, but rather, takes pleasure from their blood-curdling pleads of mercy. A demon who tastes the life it ends, tearing apart flesh by flesh, skin by skin, bone by bone. Consumes the soul, relishes in their utter terror, growls in pleasure.

Vergil awakes suddenly, sitting himself up on his bed, feeling the blankets crease and bundle into piles beside him as he pushes them off. He sighs and then grumbles, a wave of disappointment reaching him.

To be a demon, Vergil slaughters. To be a human, Vergil dreams. And on this particular night, Vergil has dreamt, and dreamt wonderfully.

The dream felt so real, so lucid, it swept over him like a sacred prophecy, like a vision that would soon come to him if he manifested it enough.

In it, he sat at a table brandished with a red satin cloth placed neatly on the surface, lavish items decorated in the center. The room he’s sitting in is too dim, too blurry and discreet from the low candlelight, but he knows, he knows there is someone sitting with him at the very end of the table.

He’s drinking rich wine, and strangely, he is human in the moment. Smiling from the foggy words that the stranger speaks from the end of the table, his dimples deepening with every bashful grin. The only thing recognizable is how sweet their voice is. How pure. How loving.

“I shall........

I am........

Devoted.....

I am yours.....

take me......

my soul......

is yours”.

They keep chanting and chanting, certain words only memorable. He is so content with this dream, feeling so bound to the pleasant ownership of the mystery person he sits with, but suddenly the candles sway in their low light, and are wiped out within seconds, the sound of the strangers' screams echoing around him. The dream had advanced into a nightmare.

This, is when he wakes. Sweat is sticky against his temples, his heart is thumping hard against his ribcage. He usually does not let his composure slip over something so trivial, but dreams are different. Dreams can control you, paralyze you, show you your deepest fears. And Vergil's fear is to grow sensitive, grow close to something again, all to watch it die. And fall away from his hands over and over again.

The troubled half-demon slips away into the night, far from devil may cry. He roams the streets, gawks in misery at bustling restaurants filled with jubilant voices. He curses whatever presence to make him feel so weak, to make him feel so unnerved that he must find a way to escape his emotions.

He is miserable as much as he is restless, clutching his precious Yamato in his firm palm, turning corner by corner, slaying creature by creature to occupy his time, and smelling scent by scent. The scent of sweat from the cooped-up bars, smelling the soil after it ripened from the fresh rain, smelling chemicals after another civilian sets off fireworks in honor of the upcoming new year. Oh, how he despised such human holidays.

He turns yet another corner, and something piques his interest. Yet another smell to devour, and not from the aroma of fresh bread, or a floral plant, but the richness of blood. It is so powerful that he cannot contain himself, the demon within him begging him to get just a taste. It is nothing he’s ever come across. He gets closer and closer, and then he hears it.

“Oh! Oh!”

It is a mere mistake for his arrival in this area. He only intended to brush some weights off his shoulders, help his thumping heart soften until he felt numb and devoid of human sensation.

Although, the voice he hears, the voice that is crying. It is pure. It is sweet. It is so familiar. It is the voice from his dream. It is you.

It is a mere mistake for him to be here, and yet, when he sees you wince and squirm, to see you crawl and bleed along the street, so frail and abused, he feels infuriated.

He draws out his Yamato, lurches it forward until it has made good use, its blade piercing the “Fury” in front of him. The demon that dares to touch the stranger of his dream cries and crashes. He is finally able to see you properly.

Your weak eyes tremble so softly, glistening and wet with human tears. His heart thumps faster.

“What have you to give?” . He only meant to tease you. He doesn’t understand why he hasn’t left yet.

Your blood smells divine. Your tears, he yearns to lick away with his warm tongue. He drinks it in, trying to deny urges.

“Then take me! Take my soul!”. He only meant to tease you. He doesn’t understand why he didn’t take you away that night, claim you, make his dream become reality.

Your voice. Your blood. Your soul.

He hadn't even learned your name.

He hadn't even learned that an interest can blossom into obsession.

9:30 PM ; MARCH 31ST ─ A REUNION

Months are brushed by with time, events going faster than it usually does. That incident, that specific night, it stayed with you, lingering in your memories. It was just until recently that you finally healed, your thick lacerations that once bled and bled, and lifted your skin with an unpleasant swell, have finally softened. The skin has finally connected, now a lighter shade and smoother compared to the rest of your body. Inches of imperfection that mock you.

Sometimes it all came back to you, the bar, the people, the alley, the shadows, the street, the monster, the man. When you thought back to it, it was practically unbelievable, you had almost considered it a part of your drunken imagination, until your eyes connected with your abused skin. It was real, that was true. Everything you said─that was true as well.

Everything….you wished it had not been true. Maybe it would have been better if the man had ended you. Point his sword a little further into your chest, impale you so gracefully like he had the other creature.

The blue, crystalline eyes that glimmered like water, but held such a roguish stare. He had been a demon himself, you knew that much. A demon disguised as a beautiful god.

You would go out on certain days, the once chilly air molding into a choking humidity, one that is heavy and warm in the spring. The crowds would soon get thicker than before in the streets, people hand in hand, side by side. You would ignore them, walk to destinations with a purposeful stride, all until you caught a glimmer hidden amongst the sweaty crowds.

That blue shade. That white hair. That blackened vest. That unblemished skin. That stare. It was only until you blinked your eyes in confusion, just to notice it was gone. He was gone.

‘Do not worry so much’ you would speak to yourself, into the depths of your head, ‘you are only anxious. He is gone now. He is gone forever’. You were still innocent till this point, still youthful and naïve. You would soon learn that your consciousness is a powerful thing, but only through a life of corruption. Through lessons of toil.

Your shoes drag up the weathered steps, its beaten surface feeling so dull under your body. You remember walking up these apartment stairs that night, seeing how something can be so challenged over time. To become so walked over, and used, all until it is nothing but dirt and dust.

You cried as you sat on them, as you finally came to recognize where you belong. What your “home” seemed to be. A place that is sorrowful, empty, and cruel, cast away into the pitiful parts of the city.

Your feet push up the final step, your fingers fumbling over uncertain objects in your bag, your eyebrows creasing and wrinkles molding onto your face as a frustrated expression is shown.

You mumble words of impatience, “fuck”, and “where is it” tumbling past your lips with a huff, all until you finally catch hold of the thing you’ve been desperately searching for, lifting the jingling keys to connect into the slot on your apartment door.

When it is opened, you shuffle yourself inside, feeling worn and tattered from hours of work, tossing your bag aside until it collides with the wooden floorboards.

A glow is spread across the room, presumably from your oil lamp, which you took much caution in making sure was never lit when you were out. You creep on your feet, staying nimble on your toes as you turn a corner, your vision taking hold of what waits in the living room.

The oil lamp is heated, its light flickering playfully, dancing inside the glass. You feel yourself melting, as it feels so warm in here, you swear the room will just enclose any second, swallow your existence. You are right about one thing, but oblivious to the other. Oblivious to the lounge chair that sits adjacent to the golden light, a figure sitting coolly upon it. Leather-clad legs, that are long and graceful, sit neatly crossed. Like a king sitting on his rightful throne. His weapon placed along the expanse of his lean thighs, his gloved hands gripping over it so hard you saw his knuckles turn white.

“Took you quite a while, don’t you think?”, his tone is soft, smooth and devoid of emotion, as if him being here was perfectly normal. “Why don’t you sit?”, the way he says it does not sound like a suggestion, but rather, a demand.

The man does not turn an inch to face you, no movement in his posture, or disfigurement in his poise. He is regal, he is dominant, and he is waiting. Waiting for you to seat yourself beside him, in which, you do not spare a second to do so. His grip on his sword becomes tighter, and his lips purse as you pass him.

You do not ask him why he is here, and why would you need to? He is much more powerful than anyone else is. You watch him carefully as you lower yourself down amongst the other chair, your hands clasping into an anxious fist, your palms suddenly growing clammy. You would have never expected to meet him again.

“The deal” he starts off, his eyes now meeting yours, pupils blown enough to show you your own tormented reflection, “I have agreed to it. Your soul-”

“I did not mean it”, you are quick to interrupt him, trying to make your tone assertive and brave. You are only the opposite, as your voice sounds meek and hoarse the moment it slips off your quivering tongue. That is your first mistake. To try him. To deny a half-demon.

“What I said was a mistake....” you are lying through your teeth, “I am sorry for troubling you, but I’ve decided that my life is much better-”

You yelp suddenly as his hand shifts off his weapon and to the arm of your chair, dragging it forward so that you're closer, his lengthy fingers gripping so roughly on the material you think it will break the seams.

“Your life was never yours the moment you promised yourself to me” he speaks with a snarl, words coming out in an aggravated hiss, almost seeming offended. “You dare deny me, after I saved your life?’. He leans in, his lips folding into his teeth so he can growl at you, to come off as threatening, to tell you there is no other choice.

“You had told me that my life was not important to you” you whispered in a feeble voice, glancing at him through the webs of your eyelashes, fingers still molded into one another and shaking with such a capacity you thought you would shatter. “I do not even know your name”.

He gazes at you for a few mere seconds, seconds that feel impossibly long under the authority of his still eyes. He sits up, adjusting himself away from you, the palm that was clutched on your chair now nimbly easing itself off and back to his body. He now settles his interest on the wall of the room, you take it that he doesn’t wish to see your pathetic face trembling under him.

“It is Vergil. My name”, he states, matter-of-factly, his form still glistening under the light as it waxes and wanes, casting indistinguishable shadows along the walls. He holds his composure well, head held high with determination, and lack of regret.

‘Vergil’. You repeat his name, over and over in your head, as if it’s a mantra. “Vergil...”, you say it aloud this time, curiosity tinted in your sweet voice. You watch him, waiting for a sudden sneer, but he only shudders from your silken tone, as if he hungered to hear you say it. “My name is-”

“I know who you are, more than I care to admit”, he quite enjoyed interrupting your sentences, you dared not to bark back. You feared he would kill you if you did so.

“I have known you for a very long time” he huffs, voice thick now and heated “you have nowhere to run. You foolish thing. It is better just to listen”.

And what did you have that could possibly make you say no? A future, filled with endless experiences? A career, one that pays well and never puts a single callous along your frail hands? A family, something you can hold on to, rely on when you need it? Happiness, tranquility, security in yourself? These things did not exist. You had nothing, truly, and that is why you had offered yourself to him that night.

If not anything, your soul had no purpose. If not anything, it wouldn’t hurt to try with him.

“O-okay” you are suddenly stuttering on your own words; mouth unsteady with every syllable spoken, throat dry. You had not realized you were crying. Vergil finally turned to watch you; his emotions unreadable.

“The deal, let’s do it”.

You have learned his name.

You have learned how powerful promises can be.

The deal had been made, stamped by your own, sobbing words.

MONTH OF JANUARY ─ A STALKING PRESENCE

Vergil takes your words harder than the blow of any weapon. Your scent, your quivers, your voice, your promise. It visits him in his dreams, so much that he refuses even a second to close his eyes. It is all familiar, every night, any occurrence. The moment he drifts away, he is met with the red satin laid on the wooden table, the candelabra in the center, a dim light glowing on the apples of your cheeks. The pure smile that creases up on your lips. Then, your words of devotion.

You? Of all people? How dare you. You have ruined him.

He spends weeks in a fit of utter rage, in denial of the lust he feels for you. The want, no, the need to have you by his side.

Then, he gives in, deciding it will all just stop if he listens, and do what needs to be done to restore his sanity. Now he must have you. Make his dream come true.

You are naïve, and innocent. So stupid to not even catch him standing beside your bed, in your own home. His large, calloused hands would reach to rub gentle caresses into your resting face at night, watching your lips part to let out breathless sighs as you swayed toward him. Drool would draw slick against the corners of your mouth, bubbling on your pruned bottom lip, and Vergil would conceitedly swipe over it with his thumb, popping it in his mouth delicately to taste you. His tongue was greedy as it lapped over his thumb, he had to chain himself down, force himself not to kiss you.

“Hush, little one”, he would coo softly in your ear whenever you would whine from a nightmare, “it won't be long before I take you”.

He did this for months, watched you carefully, crept beside you like he was your own shadow. Made sure to fade into the crowds when you grew too close. He did well to figure you out, to deny his obvious feelings until he could not contain himself anymore.

Your neighborhood had been notorious for demon cases, a dangerous residence. He could not let this be. To imagine your life taken by some measly creature? To bury their teeth in your flesh? His flesh. Your body? His body. Your soul? His soul.

He had obliterated every object of evil that could possibly even lay a finger on you, even went out of his way to grab stalking humans that eyed you for too long, dragging them into alleys, his hands locking onto their neck and twisting just enough to hear a snap.

He has lived this cruel, tormenting life for too long. If this is the way he must have something, he will not spare any moment to have it. How sweetly you gave yourself up to him. Now, he will visit you. Take you. Own you, and never let you go. You would comply, wouldn’t you? You had told him yourself, you had nothing.

Your weakness made him tremble, made him thirst just as he did when he was young, 19 all over again.

He is selfish, he knows this. He does not care. Power is the only thing he knows, and power will get you to succumb to his touch, let him take you over and over, just as he did in all his wicked dreams.

You need him.

You need him

You...need him?

5:00 PM ; APRIL 10TH ─ THE CLAIMING

He has taken you far away from the public, through wooded forests, and up into the billowing mountains, a manor he has promised you. A life that will no longer battle with you, only a future that is peaceful, as long as you promise to be his.

You have figured out that he only is kind when you obey his orders, and speak to him in a submissive, soft manner. It would be best not to challenge him, for your own good.

He does not speak to you when you travel to the manor, and you make no attempt to ask him anything, being that your jaw is locked, and your head is sweltering with panicked assumptions whenever you are near him.

He is tall, and looms over you like a giant when he stands. His legs are long, and he takes elegant, yet long strides. Tells you “make haste!” whenever you fall behind as he guides you through your new home, in which you rush up beside him shyly, gazing up at his face for guidance. He takes great notice of this, and grips his Yamato a little tighter, just as he always does whenever you grow too close. Maybe he found you annoying? Wanted to rip you to shreds with his beloved sword?

You did not know he was only simply holding himself back.

“Come” he beckons you over to him with his hand spread open, waiting patiently for you to take it. “I feel rather hungry, let us eat”, he suggests, and you oblige like the obedient soul that you must be for him. You place your smaller hand in his, watching as his fingers wrap over your knuckles greedily, his hand interlocking yours into his. Like a butterfly that has been trapped in the silken web of a black spider.

He only smiles as you shake in his possessive grip. “Feeling shy?”, he teases, but you shake your head in denial, which makes him only grin further, the dimples on his cheeks becoming pronounced. “Good, you mustn't be. Not with me”.

He takes you through the doors of the one room you have not seen yet, which is the dining room, and is wide and spacious just as much as the other parts of the house are. This is much more lavish than your apartment back in the desolate city.

The floors are wooden, and the walls are colored with a beautiful crimson red, which is a wonderful comparison to the red silk that is spread along the oaken table that sits strangely in the center, small candles sitting along the edge of the top, leaving the center depressingly empty. There are no chairs in sight, and you turn to question Vergil, only to catch him boldly staring back, his pupils enlarged and full just the same as the night he came to confess to you.

“Won’t you...” he licks his lips as he keeps his eyes trained on you, hand still squeezing onto yours firmly, “take a seat?”.

“But there is nowhere to sit”, you interject, batting your eyelashes in worry, gulping down a lump of uneasiness. He chuckles lowly in response, his reaction being so irregular that it terrified you.

“Well then, shall I help you?” he spoke to you, leaning down to murmur in your ear, biting gently down on the flesh of your earlobe. “Yes”, you squeak, and he guides you toward the table, pushing you down until you lay sprawled on top of the red satin, his gripping palm letting go of yours finally so he could peel off his long black coat. His arms now remain bare, muscles protruding as he grips your ankles and yanks you closer to him, casting your leg over his shoulder, your toes crazing over his leather vest.

“You understand, don’t you?” he has ripped your clothes off, one by one, impatient and selfish, a salacious side you have never seen from him before. “I like to claim what is mine”.

And claim he does, as he kisses marks into your precious skin, his teeth grazing over your body until his softness blends into primal, and the kisses transform into passionate bites. There are bruises along your neck, thick along your collarbone, sucked into your breasts, placed sloppily along the stretch of your stomach, and swollen along the flesh of your thighs. His saliva so slick against you, seeping into your pores, becoming one with your body.

“Please” you cry out a plead, fingers shaking and reaching out to grab him, you do not know what you are begging for. He just licks away your tears, tastes the saltiness of your sweat, swallows your lips into his, his nose brushing along your cheek as he finally gets to feel you against him, to taste your consent.

“Vergil” you whine breathlessly when he parts, his spit slobbered all over your bottom lip and down to your chin, his consuming kiss making your lips bright and puffy, all from his desire. He is gawking at you, eyes drinking you in, making sure he will ingrain this image of you in his head. It is that expression that you could never understand. Now you know, it is the expression of lust, of yearning desire.

“Tell me” his voice is akin to a growl, like a wolf that is ready to swallow its prey, “tell me that you are mine. That you belong to me. That your soul is mine to keep forever”.

The wax of the white candles dribble from the wick, become dry and hard along the oak of the table, they dance and shake in a ritualistic essence, wickedly excited when Vergil takes you, fills you up, chuckles when you grip shyly on his forearms with your shaking hands.

“Tell me” he coaxes out a throaty groan, rocking his hips into you, hip bones colliding with the flesh of your thighs. A sickening heat rushes to your face, makes you dizzy and apprehensive. You shelter your flustering face, whimpering from sudden pleasure.

“Do not hide your face from me”, he leans down, connecting his chest with yours, perfectly bottoming out within you, like two puzzle pieces that needed each other. He grabs the hand that you hide your face with between his pearly white teeth, canines biting down hard enough to draw blood in the center of your soft palm, your red liquid pooling on his lips, he only fucks you harder.

“I shall only be yours!” you cry out, palm feeling heavy under his tongue, the warm muscle lapping away at you as if your taste is divine.

“I am devoted to you!” he grunts at your words like a madman.

“I am yours, you can take me” he takes your fingers into his mouth, thrusts perfectly articulated, breath heavy. Candles still dancing with pride.

“My soul, is yours”.

He finishes, staking his claim.

MONTHS LATER ─ FINAL CONFESSION

Forks and knives collide and clash against porcelain plates, the light is dim, the dining room a sacred place for you and your husband. It is the evening that you two sit for dinner, Vergil keeping himself trained on you with a possessive glare.

You are tipsy from the wine he has served you, hiccupping from the heat that bubbles up inside your esophagus. A tingling aftertaste sweet on your tongue, you swallow, it only enhances. Your hands find themselves under the table, an index finger tracing the scar he impeded on your palm. A scar formulated from a rough love-making months ago, it is stunning compared to the ones on your arm and leg.

“Do you remember…” you start, soft-spoken, vision hazy and the surroundings seeming opaque, “do you remember when you saved me that night?”.

He smirks, seeing your question more as a challenge. His nails trace over the condensation on his glass, feeling the water topple along his skin and down to the leather of his glove.

“In our garden? Stopping you from falling in the rose bushes?”

You shake your head. He slicks back his white hair with an intrigued look on his face.

“The library, when I cast you aside before those books fell on you?”

You try to interject, he doesn’t let you. Rather, he smiles nonchalantly, a hint of jubilance in his tone.

“On our walk in the forest, when I slayed those wild animals who attempted to bite you?”

“That night Vergil, when we first met”.

He has stopped his glass mid air, lets it fall back on the table slowly, his attention still steady on you. You stop just the same, refusing to set a finger on your cutlery as you desperately await his answer.

“How could I forget?” he seems confused, and almost irritated. He stands from his chair, stalks over to you, his elegance dignified beside the luminescence of the candlelight.

“I had promised you my soul. My everything. You have given me much more than I had ever expected”

“Only what you deserve” he whispers, fingers tracing over your shoulders. Tracing “mine” over and over again.

“But why?” you choke, biting away at your swollen lips as you fluster at his lips pressing chaste pecks along your nape.

“Why?” he repeats your question, breath ghosting against your skin, yet another kiss is placed, and you gasp as he bites down.

“Because for you, I shall destroy myself”.

#vergil x reader #vergil sparda x reader #dmc x reader #devil may cry x reader #vergil x you #vergil sparda x you #yandere vergil #gender neutral fanfic

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lexsssu · 4 months

Text

Soft (Vergil)

TAGS: Vergil/Dragoness!reader, smut, breeding, pregnancy, heats/ruts, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

“Moooooommm, my hair’s already okay as it is. You don’t have to keep grooming it!”

“Hush, darling. Mother knows best and if I say that your hair needs to be groomed then it means that it needs to be groomed. Now, stay still and let Mama fix you up~”

Nero grumbled and pouted, but simply allowed himself to become limp in your grasp as you combed his snowy locks for him, a bright red blush lighting up his cheeks that were yet another feature he’d inherited from his father. To be honest, Nero took mostly after Vergil in terms of looks, but he was definitely more expressive than your mate.

“...’m not a lil kid anymore…”

“Regardless of how old you are, you will always be a child in my eyes, Nero. I bore you into this world with my body and nothing can ever change the bond between a mother and her child” You smile and nuzzle the top of the young man’s head, inhaling his scent while bathing him in your own, draconic instincts, particularly your maternal ones, overflowing as you carried another babe within your belly.

“...Just let your mother be, Nero. Once your new sibling is born she won’t be babying you anymore,” said Vergil eloquently as he sat on his favorite armchair, reading through a well-worn poetry book and looking like painting straight out of a Victorian-era portrait.

“Your father is just teasing you. You’ll always be Mama’s darling boy~” You giggle and place a kiss on your son’s forehead, watching gleefully as his cheeks turn an even deeper red from your affections.

Though seemingly minding his own business, Vergil always had his eye on you both even as he read the ever so familiar words upon the inked pages. There is a softness in the blue of his eyes that is hidden from the world outside of your cozy little home.

A softness that is reserved only for you, his mate, and all your offspring...and maybe Dante when the devil hunter wasn’t being an absolute insufferable moron.

It’s amazing how meeting you had allowed him to see the world in a different light. To rediscover parts of himself that he’d long thought to have died off on the night his entire life had changed forever and molded him into a man fraught with only the ambition for power.

He could still remember that moment so clearly, as if it happened just yesterday...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you need some help? You looked like you had quite the fall from so high up…”

The eldest son of Sparda blinked, a rare look of incredulity on his normally impassive face as he stared at the small hand being held out to him and the young woman who owned it.

Mundus’ grotesque form lay upon the blood red ground, a mass of flesh with hundreds of hands sticking out of him that would have struck fear in the hearts of most living and undead creatures. However, the Prince of Darkness was obviously deceased as he lay immobile, gaping wounds and terrible gashes littering his foul body as if his opponent had just tore through him without mercy.

“...Do you know that thing? It kept yapping ever since I dropped in here kinda like how you did and well...I just wasn’t really in the mood to deal with the monologues so I took him out of his misery,” you chuckle at the young man’s astonished expression, quite liking how expressive his reactions were despite having only just met him.

“So ummm...do you wanna go to the throne room with me? That thing’s lackeys said that I should sit on the throne to make my rule as their new boss ‘official’ and well, I dunno about you but any place is better than kneeling on the wet ground”

Still flustered with the turn of events, Vergil could only wordlessly nod and before he could get up on his own, you grasp his free hand and pull him up with surprising strength.

“Great! Since you’re new here too, we both can get a tour of the place!”

The katana-wielder would have normally pulled his hand back by now in disgust and or disdain, but strangely enough he didn’t mind how your utterly warm and soft hand clutched his own. Your hand is so small that he could easily cover it if he took the initiative to do so, but he found himself both reluctant to move and content with...whatever this was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Darling, please...fuck me open. Mate me. Breed me…!” You whine and whimper as you sway your hips tantalizingly, looking back at Vergil who’d activated his Sin Devil Trigger form with complete want and adoration. Everything about his current form aroused your most primal side, wanting nothing more than to have him fuck you until were bow-legged and undeniably swollen with his potent seed.

Though he couldn’t speak up in this form, the low grunts and the way his scaled hands took handfuls of your backside as he pressed his equally demonic-looking cock into your weeping slit had you keening and sighing as he sunk its entire length in one thrust.

As Vergil had his way with your equally enthusiastic self, you couldn’t help but smile stupidly as thoughts of the future filled your mind. Specifically, the pitter-patter of little feet that would undeniably become an absolute reality soon enough, especially as you feel the base of your mate’s cock inflating in order to lock himself inside your willing cunt.

You always did like the name Nero...

#lexsssu writes #devil may cry #devil may cry x reader #vergil x reader #devil may cry vergil x reader #dmc vergil x reader #dmc vergil #vergil x you #vergil x y/n #dmc x reader #crossposted on ao3

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sparda-ly · 1 year

Note

Hello! Can I request some DMC fluff, please? Like Dante and Vergil got sick somehow (idk, must be demon flu) and reader now has to take care of them. Separately, of course. I'd imagine Vergil is the type to try to power through it and fail miserably, lmao. While Dante eats up allll the attention his S/O gives him. It's up to you though :) Thanks and have a great day!

SICK! DANTE, VERGIL WITH A S/O WHO TAKES CARE OF THEM

UNSPECIFIED GENDER OF READER!

note: hey there ;) first dmc request, hope it's ok!

warnings: suggestive comment from dante

DANTE

dante probably got sick from his weird hobby of eating pizza naked on his balcony every morning

it doesn't matter if it's winter, summer, autumn, or spring - dante will not start his day without it

thinking he is immortal and invincible from getting any sickness, he unfortunately got proven wrong

and is currently laying in bed in the most dramatic way possible, having a wet cloth pressed to his forehead by lovely reader who keeps fussing over him

dante being dramatic is an understandment

however, dante while being sick is another type of drama queen

clinging to the reader and whining about the smallest things possible

"my head hurts so much honey please"

"i have such a bad tummy ache"

"love please don't leave me i might die here from this disease please"

one day he straight up sat on your leg not allowing you to go to the kitchen to wash dishes, acting like a child

you of course couldn't refuse and just agreed to this fate, getting cuddled to death by this himbo of a man

and dante absolutely loves this attention

"baby, i could name a few things you could help me with" ;)

and even five days after he returns to being a healthy man, he still whines about how bad he feels and oh so amazing reader you need to take care of him, or he will painfully die

the only thing stopping him is the tragic looks of bills to play, nearly staring at him menacingly from his desk

oh yeah, and also, vergil

his loving brother looking straight through his white lies, demanding him to stop lying and get his ass to work while rolling his eyes

VERGIL

vergil will never admit he is sick.

never.

even while practically fainting trying to get to the bathroom with wobbly legs

he still isn't sick, no, of course vergil

at the beginning, he will refuse your attention - saying the strangest excuses known to humanity such as

"a wild dog bit me"

"it's probably my devil trigger acting up"

"i have a penis infection"

the reader just stands there ??? confused as to how this is relevant to being ill

but you stay silent and walk to the bathroom with the intention of washing clothes

however when you return, vergil is already passed out on floor with litreally 40° celsius

but don't get him wrong, vergil still isn't sick

while pampering around him, constantly bringing him food, medicine, drink or anything to please him, he lays like a grumpy cats and just accepts this

vergil will learn to actually like this new side of you, although he does hate feeling useless and weak.

therefore, he will return to work as soon as possible, so don't get so comfortable fussing around your lovely boyfriend

#dmc dante #dante devil may cry #dante x reader #dante sparda #dante sparda x reader #dmc dante x reader #vergil x you #vergil x reader #vergil #dmc vergil #dmc vergil x reader #vergil sparda #vergil sparda x reader #dante x you

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myvampyrez · 1 month

Note

Hi hi! Can i repuest a bunch of headcannons for the Sparda Brothers™ with a reader insecure with her small chest? I love your writing

sparda twins with an insecure!reader 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

dante (dmc) x reader, vergil (dmc) x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

do you guys ever think that sharks ever get a nasty tasting fish and then they’re all like ‘oh that fish was gross’

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

some suggestive/nsfw themes in both of their parts, lmk if i missed anything!! 💕

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓓ANTE — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ regardless of what anybody says, DANTE loves everybody!!

❥ if he catches you looking in the mirror nitpicking at yourself, he’ll just pull you away and into him. his embrace will last as long as you need.

❥ dante doesn’t mind if you have a smaller chest. you could have a big chest or no chest, you could be thin or thick or a whole ass other species.

❥ beauty is subjective, dante reminds you.

❥ and it is!! beauty is in the eye of the beholder. you could be the most beautiful person to your partner and someone else would think differently, we are all beautiful in our own way!!1!1!!

❥ dante will assure you that you’re perfect the way you are and he couldn’t care less (in a caring way) what you look like, he still thinks you’re hot either way 🤷‍♀️

❥ if this man can pay his bills, he might take you shopping for clothes that might make you ease up on your insecurities. only if you want, though.

❥ (suggestive!!) if dante catches you mentioning and self deprecating about your chest, he’ll start paying more attention to it when you guys have sex. he’ll usually initiate body worship in the bedroom but he’ll make sure to give your chest some extra love, regardless on if you have breasts or not.

❥ (suggestive??) careful though, dante has some teeth. your chest will literally be littered with marks 😭

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓥ERGIL — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ VERGIL’s much more blunt about confronting your insecurities. with a cock of his head and a furrowed brow, he asks a ton of questions.

❥ he just doesn’t get how you’re insecure about it? if you know he loves you, why are you so worried about it?

❥ if you explain it to him some more, i think he’ll understand it enough to start asking what he can do to help.

❥ he’s more curt about it, so it might come off a little rough. it almost sounds dismissive as he tells you that he doesn’t care about looks at all, but he means well.

❥ guys leave him alone his mom died and he spent a lot of his time in hell okay

❥ (suggestive!!) won’t mind if you wanna leave your shirt on during sex, but will slowly start to ease you out of these habits with the sweet whispers that fall from his lips.

❥ (suggestive!!) vergil takes his time in the bedroom anyways. he doesn’t fuck, he makes love. he cherishes those intimate moments between you two, sexually or not. there’s no need to rush things.

❥ (suggestive!!) and he is such a tease. he’ll leave you waiting all day, he’ll even initiate these moments more to make you feel sexier, and then finally at night when you two are in the comfort of your bedroom, he strikes.

❥ (suggestive!!) like dante, he’ll worship your chest and upper torso area more, whether you have breasts or not. albeit he’s less rushed than dante.

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viciousvortexx · 7 days

Text

Devil's flu

a stubborn devil gets sick and learns how to appreciate his sensitive side.

ps: i just reviewed this once so pardon me if there's anything wrong <3

pss: i'm cheesy

You take a moment to just stare at Vergil sleeping peacefully on your lap, wrapped around a fluffy duvet to keep him warm, his cheeks and nose slightly red, shallow breathing and messy hair that painted his sick state. Slowly, his ocean eyes open, taking a look at the TV screen and then up at you, his voice was more husky than usual and a bit weak. “You're still watching this channel?”

After so many hours watching Discovery H&H, you were already entertained with the granny style TV shows, losing count of how many programs about cakes and house renovation you watched just this evening. Here and there, Vergil starts to spasm softly on his slumber, catching your attention from the strawberry cake recipe on the screen, placing a hand on his forehead to check his temperature. “Great, he's not so cold anymore.”

To your surprise, Vergil caught some sort of flu that only infects demons, even if he was half human, his half demon part didn't get out of this. He tried to deny telling you everything was alright, but who he thinks will get fooled? Vergil was coughing and sneezing all the time, having headaches and sore throat, runny and stuffy nose and of course, a fever. Actually, you're not certain if this should be called a fever. With devils, instead of their body temperature rise, it decreases. It was so strange to touch him and not feel the usual inhuman yet comforting warmth.

Chuckling, a warm smile spreads across your face as you pet his head. “Oh, but you were the one who wanted to watch this, remember? Hey, how are you feeling?”

"I'm fine, just a little sore...” Sighs, a whispered honest admission, running a hand through the messy silver locks of hair. His honesty makes a sweet feeling of relief wash over you, making Vergil understand that he needs to be open to you was a hard task, and the process was still ongoing. To make him admit he was sick, god... What a headache, it just took Vergil to almost faint and a pinch of stubbornness. To make him take the medicines then? Even worse. You took thousands of deep breaths to steady yourself, it's not like he's doing this to be a pain in the ass, this man haves so many scars on that heart, and you're happy that Vergil is managing to heal them, even if slowly, very slowly...

“Do you want to take another hot bath, perhaps?” Places a hand on his forehead to check his temperature again, indeed more warm than before.

“By that you mean give me another hot bath, right? You're spoiling me, little one, I still know how to clean myself.” He chuckles a bit, oh, that soft wrinkles on his face when Vergil smiles... To see that the devil doesn't show anymore that bittersweet expression when you offer him help or care, the one of annoyance and insecurity, scrunching up his eyebrows, that was replaced by a shy yet sincere smile, it fills a clenched heart with joy.

“I feel like a burden like this, you've been doing things for me...” Before he could finish, you interrupt him, cupping Vergil's face, playfully (and nervously) squeezing his cheeks to make him pay attention.

“Hey, hey! what we talked about?” You keep looking at him like waiting for Vergil to say something very specific.

“I... you really will make me repeat this again? It's embarrassing...” His cheeks are flush as you release them, a slight frown on his temple, you only raise an eyebrow and grins, Vergil sighs while closing his eyes and repeating “I'm loved and cherished and it's okay to not be ok— oh, please, that's ridiculous!”

That causes you to laugh a little, messing up his hair white hair. “Alright, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...” your hands hover in the air as a sign of surrender, “ I just want you to remember that it didn't bother me at all to groom your hedgehog hair every morning the last three days and that I love you.”

“Groom what?” Seeing him making that challenging face makes you burst out laughing, but it immediately stops when hearing him speak again with a low voice, “I love you too, thank you for everything.” Vergil reaches one of his lukewarm hands to your cheeks, brushing his thumb back and forth.

Just for a moment, you both remain silent, just looking into each other's eyes, your pupils must be dilated like the full moon right now, because that's what love does, it makes us feel like fools, our bodies betray us with uncontrollable reactions, and it feels good to be a fool for this devil with the flu. Ah, but love is not supposed to be hard, loving him was never like that, we all are a little damaged inside, what changes everything is learning how to deal with that damage without harming the others, when you love, you're up to sit down with that person under the rain, let it pour, let it wash away. Blue always was the hottest color, maybe so hot that's why not everyone wants to touch it, but you did.

“Come on, I'll bake a cake for us, I know tons of recipes after this evening, I bet I'm an expert now.”

After hearing you, Vergil starts to free himself from the barrier of duvets you built over him, and you have to hold another laugh when your lover stands up wearing the "Girls ♥ my autism swag" you gifted him as a joke, that damn fucking shirt, the fact that he really wears it to stay at home...

“Good, I can't stand eating soup anymore.” Vergil runs a hand on his hair to fix it, roll your eyes, even when this guy is sick he's still the same as always, the one that you fell in love to. You have no idea of how long this flu will last, of how many days you'll spend the evening watching Discovery H&H shows with Vergil, all you know is that you couldn't be more glad than to take care of that grumpy blue devil.

#vergil sparda #vergil x reader #vergil #devil may cry #devil may cry fanfiction #vergil fanfiction #vergil sparda fanfiction #writing #i'm so fucking gay

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phonkscribes · 1 year

Text

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

Right as the they are about to descend off that cliff, thrown off that ledge, you are there. Your arm hauls them up with a certain strength to them, the sinews in your arms flexing. At that moment, they're unable to say a word, too busy taking in the sight of you as you utter your witty line or carry on as if it weren't an issue-- effortless.

Saving the Spardas asses when they don't expect you to. ft. GN! Reader

Dante

He's fallen off of cliffs and such before, whether it was due to a missed jump or simply because he's gotten knocked out of the air. Dante tries to not make a habit out of it, but it's not like he's doing it intentionally. The legendary devil hunter just happens to be a bit less patient than his brother, even after all these years. There's just some things that don't change, like his eagerness to fight demons, even if it scares him. He isn't mortal, he won't die if he's shot or stabbed, there isn't much that could kill him-- like falling and hitting his head. It'd just hurt if anything, but maybe that's something that you didn't know.

Or at least cared for.

A hit from the devil he was fighting has him thrown back with a grunt, the sound is distinct on your ears as you whip around to see his crimson jacket flail in the wind along with him in it. You make another slash at the devils coming after you to go and chase his flying figure. Dante doesn't see you, as he looks up to the sky, thinking about how he's gonna nail the demon good for that one. As he's cast over the edge, you slide on over, an arm extended and catching his ankle as he descends. The sudden grab has him out of his daydream and curling up to look at... you!

You were a couple of yards away, how did you get here so fast? He could only watch as you used your other hand to start pulling him up by the leg as you swung him up back to the edge where you were. You almost fell in your self as you groan.

"Next time you take a swan dive, do it at the pool, yeah?", you huff, patting his leg as he got to his feet.

"Only if you're watchin' me, babe", he winked as he reached for Ebony & Ivory.

You could've slapped him, you really could've. Dante only chuckles at the way you frown for a moment before you go back to fighting, rolling your shoulders as you go. It's pretty hot, he thinks. The half-demon's glad he's got someone as strong as you are on his side, something that comforts him really, knowing that you've got his back.

Vergil

Falling doesn't scare him, he's done it before, but it's where he'll end up that tends to make him feel something other than adrenaline when facing his enemies. The first time he descended, it cost him his freedom, the last time he went to hell with his brother. Now it felt like a slight, a mistake made and he doesn't quite like those. The devils he was fighting now on behalf of joining Dante's little business were putting on a fight for once, with one of them even managing to knock him back a good distance. He had misjudged that and felt himself lose his footing on solid ground.

You'd seen him tip over the edge and in an instant you were rushing to his side, not that you were too far. With your devil arm, you dug into the side of the ledge and anchored yourself as you grabbed his arm. He had only stared in awe, shock that quickly subsided as he glowered. He was not one who needed saving, quite the opposite, even as you threw him over the edge to resume the fight.

Such raw strength... in a mortal, none the less. It was... curious. Where did such power come from, he had to wonder after he had dealt with your foes with a few judgement cuts. You managed to pull yourself up, rolling over onto your back with a long sigh.

"Thank you for that, though it was unnecessary", he had commented, looking at your prone state.

"You're welcome, you oughta watch your step next time", you joke as he offers a hand to help you to your feet this time.

"It will not happen again, I assure you", he says it with such a straight face, but you can tell that he's the slightest bit embarrassed.

Nero

You had just finished combing through your share of enemies, flicking your weapon to the side to clear it of blood as you look off into the distance. Nero was holding up well with Red Queen, revving her engine and ripping and tearing into the devils seamlessly. You could often admire how fluid he could be, like a duck bobbing and weaving through water. He looked like he didn't need your help, so you'd sit back and watch. Through the demons that surrounded him, he could feel your eyes on his back.

Nero would be lying if he didn't enjoy it when you were watching him, because in truth he had admired you too. Your skills and finesse were so badass and he hoped that maybe you thought of him like that too instead of how his uncle and father had seen him. Sure it wasn't too serious when he'd been called 'dead weight' but... it stuck with him. He wanted to prove that he could stand on his own two feet without needing their help, or yours for that matter. Ironic given his current circumstance. Nero had taken his eyes off of his opponent at hand to spare you a glance, spotting the fondness in your eyes and feeling a bit of color come to his face.

"Woah!", he'd been shoved, having nearly dropped his sword to steady himself, reaching a hand behind him to push himself back off the ground. Only to find that there was none supporting him.

You jumped in just as quickly as he was about to fall, appearing in front of him and grabbing the front of his shirt just as he was about to fly. You bring him in and step back, as he just looks at you for a second.

"... You do know that I would've been fine right?", he asks instead of saying thanks, a small smirk playing on his face as you stare at him for a second. Air hike... right.

"Would you rather I let you fall?", you're quick to respond as he just scoffs, shaking his head as he resumed where he left off with the devil.

He wasn't expecting you to be there, but he's glad that you care enough to come rushing for him like that. Next time he'll be the one saving you.

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polarisbibliotheque · 8 months

Text

Dante & Vergil with their s/o hunting bloodthirsty mosquitoes (+Nero with Kyrie doing the same)

Pairings: Dante x Reader; Vergil x Reader; Nero x Kyrie Summary: Oh, summer. Heatwaves, short clothes, ice cream... And mosquitoes. A human hunting down a mosquito is one thing, but a half-demon? Well, those little hellish beings better be ready for it. Author's notes: You're probably thinking yours truly lost all her sanity, and you're probably right. It's the second day of spring here where I live and it's so freaking hot, the only thing I've been able to eat the last few days was ice cream. It's usually hot as hell here in Brazil, but not this time of the year - December/January/February are the most unbelievably hot months in my city. And, of course, the mosquitoes have to rise from hell itself to buzz in your ears while you try to sleep and suck your blood, ginving you terrible rashes in the morning. I killed four of them the past two days and yesterday, I had to enlist my sister to help hunt one of them down. This little fic might have something to do with that incident xD

I had to write something and laugh at all those goofs trying to be functional normal humans. That's it. It's all ridiculous fluff and laughs while melting from too much heat, hope you guys enjoy ^^

Dante

“Ya know, if ya clap those really fast, you might summon a demon.”

You just looked back at Dante with murder in your eyes.

The red devil stood by the stairs, having his arms crossed and leaning by the guardrail, that characteristic grin spreading across his lips.

You wanted to throw the flip flops in your hands right at his face – maybe that would get rid of that insufferable cocky smile.

Sometimes you understood Vergil in a soul level.

“If said demon decimates the freaking mosquito who’s been testing my sanity for the past hour, I’m all in.” You turned your eyes back to the ceiling, searching for that single little thing that took peace away from you that day.

The shop wasn’t the most comfortable place in the world, that you had to admit, but the last couple of days were hotter than the layers of fire in Hell itself – Vergil would argue, but even he realized it wasn’t wise to discuss with you when you were melting faster than an ice cream on asphalt.

The heat, however, brought along the mosquito wave.

Hence why you were on the top of Dante’s desk, barefoot, sporting your peak summer style, flip flops ready to kill. Hearing Dante making fun of that situation wasn’t really aligned to your mood at that moment.

“Eh, already…?” Dante still had the smile plastered on his lips, casually approaching the desk. He was one to talk: given how hot it was, he was wearing only his pants, completely barefoot and shirtless – and even then, you questioned how he could walk around with those heavy, black pants without falling apart. “Thought these little fuckers would take a lot more time to appear.”

“Well, apparently they thought the same and figured a surprise attack would be more efficient.” You just heard his giggle as you kept on looking everywhere near the ceiling, round and round the desk. Dante rested his arms on it, casually looking up to watch you.

He couldn’t deny, it was funny. All that made him smile and relax: it was so mundane, so… Human. To think one day he’d be at his shop with his most beloved being in all dimensions, worrying about heatwaves and nagging mosquitoes; watching as you practically danced around on his desk, hunting mosquitoes with all the might in the world. As if you both didn’t hunt demons for a living.

As if life was just like that… Perfectly mundane.

“You give’em more credit than they deserve, babe.” Dante leaned his head in one of his hands, watching you with dreamy eyes. At the peak of your annoyance, you never thought the son of Sparda would look at you so lovingly – then again, he wasn’t an ordinary man.

“Oh, I don’t think so, hot stuff.” Your answer was mindless, making Dante open a huge, radiant smile, sparkling as much as his eyes. “Those things come directly from the layers of Hell, I’m certain of it.” You finally put your arms down, looking back at Dante and finding him with that unexpected expression. “What…?”

“You called me hot stuff, hot stuff.” He winked back, making you realize your ‘mistake’.

It wasn’t really a mistake. But Dante would definitely become even more insufferable with that.

“I blame the mosquitoes from Hell.” Your answer was ridiculous but sure, making Dante burst into laughs as he circled the table to sit on his big chair.

“That’d be a great name for a metal band. The Mosquitoes From Hell.” He laughed even more, resting his feet on a small spot on the table, making sure it wouldn’t interfere with your hunt.

“There you go. You, Verge and Nero can play together now.” You didn’t have much fun in your voice, going back to searching your nemesis in the air. Dante snorted a laugh, knowing you were joking – even if you were too focused to make it obvious.

“Dressed as vampires, it’d be perfect!”

But you couldn’t remain too serious around Dante for a long time. As soon as he added that, you closed your eyes, resting your wrists on your waist, letting out a sigh along a laugh. Imagining them all dressed as vampires, playing together as mosquitoes from Hell was too much – Dante now had your attention, beating the rogue mosquito you couldn’t find anymore.

You eyed him back, having a half smile on your lips. Dante was relaxed as he could be, his arms on the back of his head, helping him rest as he watched you with all the interest in the world.

“C’mon. I’d be one hell of a vampire!” Once again, he had that smile on his lips – sprinkled with a little more happiness now that you were into it.

“You’d be the sexiest one for sure, Mr. it’s-too-hot-to-wear-shirts.” You pointed back at him with one of the flip flops still in your hand, making Dante smile even more – a little blushed, but that could be because of the heat. “Dante!”

Without thinking twice, he caught your hand and pulled you to him, making you both rock on the chair violently as you tried not to end up on the floor. But Dante was strong and used to a lot more difficult tricks, having you on his lap, both legs secured by one of his hands on his right side. You had to let go of the flip flops, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, as both of you laughed.

“A reckless vampire too!” You finally put some distance between your faces as you were finally settled, finding Dante’s blushed cheeks as he laughed while still looking at you with adoration in his eyes. “Well, well. You got my attention now, cowboy.”

If only Dante knew how much you loved seeing him like that – completely human, vulnerable, having fun, as if none of the heavy burdens from his past weighted on his soul anymore.

“I’m happy, then. I was feeling a little ignored, babe.” He chuckled back, still blushing. Whenever it was hot like that, Dante had a tendency to be as red as an apple – and you didn’t complain. In a certain way, it was cute. As cute as a half-demon son of Sparda could be.

“I’m never ignoring you, babe.” You murmured, brushing some of his stray white hair away from his eyes, giving room to those beautiful skies that always allowed you to see his soul. Dante would always allow you to see him like that. “You better be ready for some undivided attention.”

“Hmmm, I could use a little o’ that…”

You barely waited for Dante to finish his sentence, catching his lips in a slow kiss. Dante rested one of his hands on the back of your neck, after brushing some of your hair back.

It was hot as Hell, yes. But not even that would stop you from loving your red devil.

Only one thing ever could.

mmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEppppPPPPP!

“Fuck, you weren’t kiddin’…!” Dante immediately let go of your lips, having the peak of annoyance in his beautiful blue eyes. “Where’s that little shit?! Did you hear it too?!”

“That’s precisely what I’ve been through for the last hours, my beloved.” You had the most annoyed smile plastered on your lips, eyes closed as if you were trying to maintain yourself calm. “I told you. When you least expect it, that spawn from Hell will meep furiously in your ears, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Oh, there is.” Now Dante put you aside, taking your flip flops and climbing on the desk. “I’m gonna obliterate that lil’ bastard!”

“Now that I’d love to see.” Oh, how tables had turned. There you were, sitting on his big chair, arms crossed, cocky grin in your lips, watching that brick house of a man using his enhanced demonic senses to find the darn mosquito. “Who would’ve known. Good to deal with demonic pests and mundane pests.”

“Oh, look who’s bein’ all funny now!” Dante glanced you again, but he himself couldn’t refrain from laughing. “Guess I’m the full package, huh?”

“That just makes you hotter, if you wanna know.” You had a matter-of-fact tone, leaning back on the chair and resting your feet on the table. “Nothing like a man who can fight and love like Aragorn as well as cook some damn good potatoes and look after the house like Samwise Gamgee.”

“You know what they say, get yourself a man who can do both. Found ya!”

You could swear Dante’s voice had a tinge of his trigger distortion as the red devil finally found his foe flying around his head. Dante tried a few slaps, but the mosquito was too close for him to be able to kill it. Using the flip flops to fan it away from him, you both lost the mosquito for a while, remaining quiet. Dante used all of his senses to finally see it nearing the couch – with a deadly aim, he one-shot his pray with your flip flop, too fast and lethal for the thing to run away.

The mosquito was no more – its remains were glued on the sole of your flip flop in a stain of blood.

“That was so hot.” You were mesmerized and a little bit jealous of his abilities not only to hunt demons but now, to hunt mosquitos as well. Dante really was the whole package.

“I’m startin’ to question your definition of hot, babe.” Dante let out a good laugh, sitting on the edge of the desk, legs dangling by your side.

“Everything you do, basically.” You shrugged, getting up from the chair to be at least almost his size. Standing between his legs, you wrapped your arms around his neck, ruffling his soft white hair back in order to see his eyes – those eyes you loved so much, so vulnerable and loving towards you. “Thank you so much for saving my desperate human soul, hot stuff.”

“I’m always at your service, pretty eyes.” Dante’s answer was almost a murmur as he leaned to catch your lips with his one more time. “No interruptions this time.”

You laughed between his words and kisses, ready to spend the rest of the night loving him unconditionally.

That is. If you both didn’t hear another approaching MEEP into your ears.

“You gotta be kidding me.” You sighed, throwing your head back.

“Get all the shoes, babe. Those lil’ shits have no idea what they got themselves into.”

Of course, you both had other plans for that night – involving a lot of love, kisses and giggles between you, as time stopped and you could enjoy yourselves, even with that relentless heatwave. The night was spent, though, with you both viciously hunting mosquitoes, keeping scores, making bets between yourselves, drinking beer and eating the leftover cold pizza in the fridge.

It wasn’t what people would consider a perfect evening – but, whenever you were together, things were certainly a lot more entertaining. As you and Dante took refuge in his room, finally getting rid of all the mosquitoes, you lied tiredly in each other’s arms, laughing about your hunt that night, until you fell asleep without a single meep to wake you up.

And that, you would say, was perfect.

Vergil

“I need to enlist your help for a mission, my love.”

Vergil was immediately serious. It was funny how you could watch him change his demeanor – you once told Dante it was like when Marilyn Monroe put on her persona and suddenly people were aware she was there and Dante never allowed his brother to have a single moment of peace upon knowing that.

But it was true. It took some time, but Vergil slowly allowed his shoulders to rest relaxed whenever you were around. His eyebrows weren’t as harsh, his jaw wasn’t tensed all the time. You could see how his forehead remained smooth, how his long hands rested calmly somewhere instead of constantly gripping some invisible weapon. His breath turned slower and smoother, his focus allowing him to plunge completely into his beloved books instead of remaining always with a steady eye on his surroundings.

Whenever you were around, Vergil was safe – of that, he was sure. He had his moments of slipping up, of having his survival instincts make him suddenly tense up and remain vigilant. But you managed to bring a peace to him he never thought he would experience before – and Vergil always allowed himself to slowly, very slowly, relax again.

When you were serious, though, survival-mode Vergil came back to the surface: shoulders tensing, eyes turning into steely blocks of ice, hands closing in fists, gazing you intently while waiting for anything to suddenly appear so he could kill it with just a glare. It was his famous ‘dark aura’ as you called, and not even Dante had that – it was Vergil’s special power and it could make the bravest of demons run away with just a stare.

“What happened?” Vergil’s voice was cold and low, carrying not only all his worry, but his rage.

“The worst creature from Hell has ascended to test us.” You spoke solemnly but there was something quite not right with your tone. Nevertheless, Vergil was even more weary: he was ready to void-cut your way to Nero’s place so you could be safe while he dealt with whatever it was that decided to haunt you. “There’s a huge mosquito in the bedroom. I can’t work properly and, trust me, we will never get a good night of sleep with that thing buzzing around.”

“A… Mosquito…?” Now Vergil slowly crossed his arms, looking down at you. He still had his shoulders tense, jaw locked and stoic look in his eyes, but you knew those would water down after a while – the most important thing was the ‘dark aura’: as soon as he realized you were both safe and there was nothing to worry too much about, it vanished just like Marylin Monroe did whenever she didn’t want to be recognized.

It was impressive, really.

“Yes. And don’t you dare mock me.” You pointed right at him as soon as it seemed Vergil was ready to scold you for being foolish – something that looked quite similar to when he was about to go in a fight. “You can be my guest and try to sleep with the mosquitoes, I’ll sleep on the couch if I need too. But those things will not rob me of my sanity.”

“Hmmm. It’s been a while I don’t see one…” With those words, Vergil followed you to your shared bedroom, having just come out of his shower into that mess. “It makes sense. I believe they come out when the weather is hot, right…?”

“Oh, c’mon. You have to have these little things in Hell. It’s practically a mini-demon spawn with wings and tiny horns imbued in it to drive you crazy.” As soon as you finished your description, Vergil had to close his eyes and do his best to not snort a quick laugh – something he wasn’t really successful at. “You can’t possibly make me believe those weren’t made by the forces of evil to suck blood and endlessly annoy all living beings.”

“We have worst in Hell.” Vergil’s look at you was still strict, but his silver eyes had a tinge of care. He would never admit out loud – and he almost wouldn’t admit even to himself – but the way you talked, the way you eloquently described things to amuse not only him but yourself as well always seemed adorable to Vergil.

You, in the other hand, eyed him with notes of annoyance while resting your hands on your waist. You were the face of the summer that day, having seriously considered being only in your underwear during a few moments, completely out of not being able to tackle the sudden heatwave. Vergil had his dark pajama pants on, his torso covered by a white sleeveless shirt, completely barefoot and his hair slicked back – still wet from the almost cold shower he just took.

Whenever you questioned his heat resistance – afraid that he would die from the heatwave out of not wanting to show too much of his skin ‘like his stupid brother’ all the time – Vergil would just glare you and answer with ‘I’ve had worse”.

You knew he was talking about Hell. In a way, Vergil was quite different than everyone else because of all the things he got used to or desensitized in Hell – heat was only one of them. Vergil could go days without eating, without sleeping, he could endure a lot of pain and dismiss lethal wounds to keep on fighting, and so on… But his sense of taste was also a lot more sensitive, specially regarding sweet foods, as well as his sense of smell – when it came to delightful scents Vergil could notice them a mile away but he could also feel sick from being overwhelmed after a while; with foul scents, though, he had a higher tolerance, getting used to them after only a few seconds. Soft textures and lullabies could also get him by surprise, making him always wonder if there was something hidden behind those.

You could make a list of things that Vergil reacted differently or had been desensitized after his long time in Hell – and the heatwave from that day was certainly one of the items in your list.

“Well… Where is it?”

“It was on the ceiling. I climbed up on the bed trying to reach it, but it’s too far away for me.” You sighed, looking back at him. “I don’t know where it is now. We’ll have to hunt it.”

“You are aware that climbing furniture is very dangerous, right?” Vergil spoke slowly, in the same rhythm his steps casually walked around the bedroom.

“Oh, yes. I hunt demons for a living, but climbing a bed to kill a mosquito is going to be my downfall.” Having your flip flops already on your hands, you couldn’t refrain from answering him with sarcasm.

“Even Achilles had his blind spots.” And as much as you hated it, you had to recognize when Vergil was right. “It will take too long to find it this way. It’s easier if we allow it to come to us.”

“Hmmm… That’s a very good idea, hadn’t thought of that before.” You stopped by his side, both of you observing the room with smart eyes.

“You once mentioned they are attracted to breathing.” Vergil looked back at you, making you nod in return. With that confirmation, he started breathing heavily in order to attract the mosquito.

“Good idea. I’m going to turn off the lights too, they seem to leave wherever they are in search for another light source.”

Vergil just agreed with his head as you turned off the lights and stopped by his side, both of you breathing heavily, trying to lure your prey out of its hiding spot.

In all his life, after all he had done, all he sacrificed and all the souls he destroyed – including his own – Vergil never thought he would be doing something so… Ordinary. Stupid even. There were you, in the dark, breathing weirdly to attract a simple mosquito in order to give you some peace of mind.

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, even if a little bit. If he could wish for something, he would wish for ordinary days with you for the rest of his life. Dealing with broken showers in the bathroom, fixing a leaking sink in the kitchen, having all the lights go out and depend only on candles, sit by your side reading thousands of recipes trying to understand why a pie backfired in the oven… All painfully mundane things, but so human. So heartwarming to the soul.

It was a kind of peace Vergil knew he did not deserve after all his actions – after all the blood he had shed. But it was something for him to hope for; and human hearts always kept hope inside even if it was an unlikely sort of hope, right?

As you turned on the lights once more, you and Vergil remained with your breathing technique – but none of you could see even a wing of the mosquito. After a few seconds, you had to look at each other.

“We look quite ridiculous, don’t we…?” With your question, not even Vergil could keep serious – both of you started laughing, shaking your heads in unison.

“We can always wait and see if it appears again.”

But as soon as Vergil let those words out of his lips, both of you picked up the characteristic buzzing of a mosquito around the room. Turning your heads immediately, you could see how Vergil had his hunting glare on: carefully scanning his surroundings, the mosquito wouldn’t escape the vicious Dark Slayer.

“Over there!” You threw one of your flip flops towards it, missing for just a little bit.

The shoe was followed by a small, bright blue summoned sword – and that one didn’t miss.

“Wow. Who would’ve guessed, summoned swords have domestic purposes as well.”

“They are very useful for a great number of things.” Vergil shook his head, letting out a breathy small laugh. But then, his hunting eyes were back. “Did you hear that…?”

“What…?” You froze in place, glancing around the bedroom, trying to listen to what he had picked up. Vergil took one of his fingers to his lips, signaling for you to listen carefully right after, making you focus even more.

Those things didn’t happen all the time – but they would be as unexpected as a shooting star crossing the sky. All of a sudden, catching you by surprise, Vergil’s hands rested on your hips, his lips planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Ah!” But of course. Even if Vergil was careful and didn’t do things as suddenly – or as aggressively – as his twin brother when it came to surprises, you did get startled, tripping on your own feet as he kissed you. “Verge!”

“Y/n! Be careful!” Vergil tried to hold you as best as he could. Your hands entangled, one of his arms trying to embrace your waist and pull you back to him. He lost his balance, though, tripping alongside you and trying to stop whatever was happening – as long as you didn’t get hurt, it would be alright for him.

As unexpected as his kiss was, you both ended up falling on the bed – which, at least, was a fluffy fall. Until, that is, a loud crack resonated through the room. Vergil still held you tight in his arms, your fingers intertwined as you felt the bed giving in under your weight.

When all went silent, you and Vergil both exchanged looks, still trying to understand what happened.

It didn’t take too much to remember your bed was a little wobbly – because of Vergil’s recurrent nightmares, you had a couple accidents with the Yamato, chipping at the bed and having to fix it until you had time to buy a sturdier one. With the weight of the both of you falling on it, the bed couldn’t take it anymore and cracked in pieces.

“I blame the mosquito.” You whispered silently, making Vergil immediately bury his head on your neck.

You could hear a muffled laugh – not loud, but comfortable, as he would always be around you. Resting one of your hands on his wet hair, you smiled as you felt his shoulders finally relax, his jaw losing the tension as Vergil kissed your neck.

“We will look for a new bed tomorrow morning.” He sighed, still wondering if all of that was one of Mundus’ illusions before he woke up once more in Hell, having his soul broken even further.

If it was, Vergil closed his eyes and wished for it to last a little longer this time.

“I don’t mind sleeping on the couch for a while.” You ran your fingers through his hair, making Vergil lean his weight on his arms in order to look into your eyes. There was nothing in there that could point to Mundus’ tricks – your eyes were filled with adoration and a slight tinge of melancholy, a mixture particular to you that always made him secretly breathless and completely vulnerable. “As long as you’re around, anything works for me.”

Vergil always found something quite interesting when you were around. All his life, he believed there were words for everything – and all could be expressed through prose, through a painting of words into a masterpiece. Upon meeting you, though, he realized some things had no words in any languages he knew that could express what he wanted to say – the only thing he could do was to kiss you back with all the admiration that stirred inside his chest.

Indeed, sleeping on the couch was far from perfect. But having your head safe and sound on his chest while he played with your hair, with you listening to his heartbeat as you always enjoyed to do…Vergil thought not even Heaven could be more perfect than that – and he asked whatever could listen to allow him to live such an ordinary, human life for as long as he could.

Because as long as you were around, anything worked for him.

Nero

“Hey, Kyrie…? I was thinking maybe we can move those shelves from the bedroom to the…”

If there was a thing Nero used to do quite often, that thing would be already talking without even making sure the other person was listening. Usually while still walking towards them, screaming in the distance, barely paying attention to said person.

He seriously questioned why he and Kyrie decided to clean and solve all the little issues in their house on the hottest day of the year – but then again, it was a sudden heatwave and no one was expecting it. Nevertheless, his white tank top was already drenched in sweat, his pair of jeans definitely too hot for that day and he was doing something he never did in his life: working barefoot.

Having a piece of furniture he was tinkering with in his hands, he approached the living room so he could tell Kyrie his brilliant idea of moving the shelves to the garage – decluttering the bedroom and having more storage where they actually needed. As he looked up, though, Nero most definitely didn’t expect that sight.

Kyrie was wearing the shortest pair of shorts she could find at home – flimsy, delicate, from her pajamas – and a sports bra. That’s it. Her hair was tied in a bun, while she had a spatula on one of her hands, completely barefoot on top of the kitchen counter island. Her skin glistening with sweat, while she viciously looked for something.

Nero didn’t want to blush. He wasn’t going to blush. He pursed his lips and did his best to control all of his feelings – after all, he could control his devil trigger, controlling blushing because of seeing that goddess of a woman right on their kitchen wearing almost nothing and being absolutely gorgeous shouldn’t be harder, right…? Right…?! It shouldn’t. Nero wasn’t…

He was blushing. Like a bell pepper.

“Oh, Nero! I didn’t listen to what you said, I’m sorry…!” Kyrie was a little startled upon seeing him – and she certainly took the blushing as his response to how hot the day was rather than anything else.

“What… Did you know climbing furniture is dangerous?!” After the initial shock, though, Nero’s protective instincts towards his loved ones had to kick in. Approaching the island in a hurry, he had his hands on his waist, but ready to get Kyrie out of there.

“Oh, I do, don’t treat me like a child.” Even though her answer was annoyed, Kyrie dismissed his comment with a sigh and a slight smile: she would never complain about how protective Nero was towards her. She would always appreciate that. “But I’m trying to solve a problem on my own.”

“Well, the only problem I see here is you on top of the counter, beautiful.” Nero rested his hands on the cold stone, slightly considering laying down on it to get rid of the heat. Maybe standing on it wasn’t that bad, but he would never endorse such dangerous behavior on her side. “C’mon. Lemme help you down.”

“Hey! I’m doing some hunting, I won’t climb down now!” Kyrie now had her hands on her waist, finally looking down at Nero and finding his always attentive but loving aquamarine eyes. She could never get angry at those eyes, he definitely was her soft spot. “I’ve been doing this for the past half-hour. It’s ok, Nero.”

“Wait, what? Huntin’? What’s the matter?!” It was like she flipped a switch in Nero. Suddenly, there was the devil hunter, always aware of his surroundings, ready to sucker-punch any clueless demon that appeared in front of him. All of this got amplified with the fact that Kyrie was around and he would be damned if anyone even thought about touching her in his presence.

She had to giggle. It was almost a natural response even. Nero could have all the pose he wanted – he could be the troublesome punk with a dirty mouth and short-tempered behavior all he wanted – but Kyrie could always see the man he was underneath all that. In his aquamarine eyes, Kyrie has ever seen a sweet man, gentle, worried about his friends, loyal and caring, ready to sacrifice everything and anything for his loved ones. The punk attitude could fool everyone else but her.

And Kyrie had to admit, Nero looked as cute as a badass demon hunter could be when she saw everything that was under his short-tempered answers, ready to get into a fight – the love, the care and the immediate instinct to protect at all costs.

He looked up at her, clueless for a few moments. Kyrie would always look like a little angel in Nero’s eyes, with a giggle resembling little silver bells on a golden morning. Her cheeks slightly blushing, her beautiful hair starting to fall over her face, her rose-pink lips so delicate as her warm brown eyes watched him with care.

“It’s nothing like that, silly…” Her voice was always soft, so different than everything else Nero had always heard. Since the beginning, he was always used to being treated harshly or with indifference, but Kyrie was the first one to offer him comfort and love. He always thought falling for her was inevitable, as they were meant to be from the moment their eyes crossed for the first time. “I’m having mosquito problems.”

“Mosquito problems…?” And suddenly, all that wave of adrenaline washed off his body. Nero could be calmer, it wasn’t anything to be horribly worried at. Leaning over the kitchen counter, he smiled up at his little angel. “All that ‘cause of a lil’ mosquito…?”

“Oh, don’t downplay it like that!” Kyrie pretended to be mad, lightly slapping one of his arms with the spatula. As Nero giggled, she started looking around again. “I’ve been on that for the past half-hour. I’ve been trying to catch it but it’s too fast!”

“We can always try some pesticide.” As soon as Nero suggested, Kyrie glanced at him.

“Nero. Last time we tried pesticide, you almost died from the smell. We had to ask Dante to sleep at the shop, remember?” Of course, he didn’t. Nero had probably erased that memory out of his head, but Kyrie would forever be there to remind him: out of the two, he was the most sensitive with strong chemical smells, specially cleaning products and pesticides, given his demonic heritage. Nero would never want to admit it out loud, but it was true.

“Oh… Yeah.” As always, Nero would do his best to change subjects – thanking the heatwave for the first time for serving as a perfect cover for his blushing. “But ya know, killin’ it with a spatula isn’t the best thing in the world. Actually, killin’ it isn’t like you at all.”

“Well, I get rashes every time they bite me. I must be allergic to something.” Kyrie sighed, finally approaching Nero on the counter. He stepped back for a bit and she put the spatula away, sitting in front of him, legs hanging from the counter. “And you were sort of allergic too when we were kids.”

“Ah, yeah, I remember… Got some pretty nasty itches all over my arms.” Nero let out a quick laugh, unconsciously resting his hands on Kyrie’s thighs. She was warmer than usual – not as much as him though – and her skin was soft, slightly damp. As a reflex, he lightly caressed her tights with his thumbs while talking – and Kyrie thanked the heatwave for hiding the real reason she was blushing at that moment. “You’re right, I’ll give ya that. Mosquitoes aren’t allowed in this house.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was a small whisper, Kyrie still trying to control her heartbeat. She wasn’t half-demon like Nero though, and her human heart would always follow her own feelings instead of whatever her mind was trying to control. “Do you think you can help me with it?”

“I can always help you with anything, princess.” His aquamarine eyes sparkled with care as Nero leaned forward to place a very not rushed at all kiss on her angel lips. Kyrie cradled his face with both of her hands, smiling into his lips – Nero always tasted honey-sweet to her, no matter the situation. “Alright, angel, time to deal with your mosquito. Where’s the lil’ bastard?”

“It was flying around the ceiling. I managed to slap it a couple of times but, as you said, spatulas aren’t that efficient.” She let go of him, watching lovingly as Nero got a couple of shoes he had left in the kitchen while cleaning the bedroom floor. “What are you going to do with so many shoes…?”

“Well, I got a trick up my sleeve.” With a wink, Nero’s ice blue trigger claws appeared behind his back like a set of wings, catching one shoe in each of its hands. Kyrie couldn’t stop laughing. “Ya know, demons have their domestic uses, we can be pretty handy at home.”

“That was awful, Nico would love it!” Kyrie couldn’t stop laughing and giggling as Nero climbed on the kitchen counter, armed with two pairs of shoes.

He wasn’t lying: his trigger could be very helpful when doing chores. That was how he always did whatever he needed to do around the house in half of the time: Nero literally had control over another set of hands to help.

As Nero used all his enhanced senses to find the mosquito and start hunting it with four relentless shoes, Kyrie watched him with what one would think it was too much admiration in her eyes for such a trivial thing. Even though it was mundane, it wasn’t trivial to her: nothing was trivial when it came to spending time with someone she loved, especially Nero.

When others would see a half-demon creature, Kyrie would see the human she loved so much. And not only that – they started dating when they were teens, yes, they grew up together and soon that young love matured over time – Kyrie didn’t see her boyfriend, but a man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with and who would be such a great husband and father.

Nero would deny if she ever told him that, of course. But Kyrie could see how he played with the children, how he scolded them in such a fatherly way when needed, how he always seemed to have so much patience even if he hid it under a short-tempered demeanor. Nero would make the best dad jokes, he would build the best pillow forts, he would stay awake into the night to care for his children when they would get sick… Kyrie could make a list of things Nero would certainly do as a father – and would excel at it.

“C’mon… Where did it… A-ha! Found it! No escape now!”

She was brought up from her thoughts as soon as Nero exclaimed those words, all four pieces of shoes ready to attack. The mosquito had nowhere to go: he threw one shoe, calculated the route the mosquito would fly over, and threw the other three in a row – faster than she could even think about it. The mosquito was caught in the second shoe, but, if that hadn’t happened, it would had found certain death in the other shoes.

“Job done, princess! Your nights will be peaceful and mosquito-less again!” Nero’s trigger hands disappeared as he bowed to Kyrie – who just laughed and applauded as he did so.

“Thank you so much, brave knight!” She had to joke around. Nero had this thing of calling her princess ever since they were teens – and he never knew how much her heart jumped inside of her chest every time he did that. To counter it and be able to hide how much she loved him in Fortuna, Kyrie would always call him something like that back as a joke, so the elders would think they were just playing. It sort of became their thing after a while – and she quite enjoyed it. “I think it’s my turn to repay you.”

“Eh, no need…” With a sigh, Nero sat by Kyrie’s side on the counter, legs dangling from it as well. He was a lot taller than her, but not even his feet couldn’t reach the floor from where they were sitting. “I’ll do it a thousand times if I have to.”

Looking at her, Nero allowed a caring smile to fill not only his lips but his eyes as well. While so many people saw only fire and rage, Kyrie had the privilege of seeing love and vulnerability inside that aquamarine sea.

Placing one of her hands on his cheek, Kyrie pulled Nero for a kiss – soft, long and calm. Nero was taken aback for a few seconds before melting into it, placing his hands on her hips and finding her soft skin. It seemed like a bolt of lightning went up their spines as Nero caressed her sides and ran his hand on her silky, slightly damp back.

“Oh, what were you saying about the bedroom before…?” Her question was a whisper as Kyrie parted the kiss – both of them blushing and vaguely breathless.

“Nothin’ that matters. The shelves can wait.” Nero dismissed it quickly, pulling her back to a kiss – both of them laughing between each other’s lips.

The house was a mess as they were cleaning everything: the kitchen and the bedroom seemed like they were torn apart, with clothes and shoes lying everywhere, books finding temporary solace somewhere else, and everything looking like it was turned upside down.

Spending time with each other, though, was a bigger priority. They would order some pizza and sleep on the couch under a light bedsheet so they wouldn’t get caught by surprise in case Nico decided to visit all of a sudden in the morning – but they wouldn’t pass the opportunity of loving each other.

As the night settled, they rested on the couch, Nero cradling Kyrie safely in his arms, as they talked the night away, always blushing from being so intimate with each other – that would never change, no matter how many years had gone by.

While watching Kyrie giggling from one of his stupid jokes, looking like an angel resting her head on his chest, Nero blushed even more while laughing alongside her and playing with her hair. He would always be a fool for her.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to get a glass of cold water for you?” Kyrie whispered into the night, the humming of the fan they found in the back of the garage making the weather a little bit more bearable. “You look like a tomato, dear.”

“Oh, it’s ok. It’s chillier now, my temperature will go down soon.” Nero smiled back at her, wondering how Kyrie could be so radiant. No supernatural creature could top that. “No need to worry, angel. Thank you.”

Obviously, he would never say he was blushing because of her - having only one thing in his mind… Thank whatever forces that be for that heatwave.

#devil may cry #dmc #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfic #devil may cry imagine #dmc imagine #vergil sparda #dante sparda #nero sparda #dante x reader #vergil x reader #nero x kyrie #dmc kyrie #dmc nero #nerokiri #that's it that's the fic for today #melting in the heat #and killing mosquitoes with your loved ones #I don't condone climbing furniture as well #be careful people!!#and care for yourselves during heatwaves like that #it can literally be a killer #alsoooo I missed writing sugary nerokiri I LOVE THEM #and Vergil laughing for the FIRST TIME #and I don't even have anything else to say about Dante 'cause that man is amazing #but half of Dante/so and Nero/Kyrie relationship is 100% based on Rick and Evie from The Mummy #may the gods bless this family of himbos #(Verge is a himbo too but a different flavour of himbo I didn't forget him)

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gloomiebearwritings · 2 years

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Heyo Charlie!! How do you think the Brothers Sparda (Dante and Vergil), Nero and V would flirt with their S/O (NSFW/SFW). My best friend asked me to suggest it :) could you please do it for her?

Absolutely! I left V out unfortunately as I've limited requestable characters to a limit of 3! I do hope this works for ya!! ❤❤❤

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dante

His little nickname for you has always been strawberry shortcake, saying it was just perfect because of how sweet you were, and how you were his favorite person

He’s a bit more straightforward with his flirting, even if it makes him stumble over himself from time to time

It appears as though he’d be smooth, able to flirt without a hitch- but you’ll find him making little typos in texts that you both get a laugh out of later

Absolutely loves dropping flirty comments whenever he can, sometimes getting a playful punch to the shoulder from Lady if she heard

SFW:

Cheeky comments about how you look that morning or night, “Well don’t you just look delicious, hm?”

Lazy, tired smiles on slow days with softer comments, “There’s my strawberry shortcake…” / “Hey pretty face, come sit with me for a bit- I haven’t held you enough…”

Lingering touches and grins when he gets excited during time off- pulling you onto his lap whenever he can, telling you that you’re just the cutest thing

NSFW:

-Little pinches to the hips or ass when passing behind you; or squeezing your hips when he stands behind you

-Sneaks in ghosting kisses along your neck if he’s close enough, whispering about how good you feel- “You’re such a sweet shortcake- mind if I have a bite?”

-Sometimes if he’s feeling bold, he’ll give you quiet bedroom eyes from wherever he is in your line of sight, “I’m starvin’, I think I could go for some strawberry shortcake…”

Nero

Being his buttercup, he always makes time to smother you in sweet words, especially at the end of the day where he can curl up with you

He’s a bit shy in his flirting, keeping it as modest as he can since he doesn’t want anyone to know all that runs through his head

Rarely flirts around others, finding it to be a more playful thing to do between just the two of you; though sometimes Nico will overhear him talking to you on the phone, making his moves- always leading to a remark from her on his methods

SFW:

Sometimes he’ll be a bit more open with his comments, usually when he thinks the two of you are out of earshot of everyone else, “Aw, come on buttercup- I can’t have even a little bite?”

Little playful smiles and winks are his go-to around others- even cheesy lip bites paired with a wink to get his point across

His specialty though is little texts he sends when he has a moment of peace:

[Hey pretty babe, you looked too cute this morning, so I didn’t wake you up. Guess that could mean you’re my sleeping beauty, right?]

NSFW:

Despite being quite shy otherwise, he can send some rather raunchy texts when he’s not at home with you- this may sometimes lead to more if there’s enough time alone for him

When by your side he’s back to being a bit sheepish, little comments here and there about just how alluring you were being the most common

Sometimes if he’s feeling braver, he’ll give you a little pinch as he’s walking by, giving the quietest comment about how he’s got a sweet tooth: “I think I need a little sugar…”

Vergil

Flirting was normally a no-go, at least at first; he wasn’t sure how to make it work

His initial attempts were stiff to say the least, but it was endearing in how he tried

Despite the stiffness however, his nicknames for you remained the same: Darling, and Lover- calling you them often enough for you to still smile hearing them, but not so much that they become as common as your name

SFW:

Waking you up in the morning with kisses, and soft-spoken words about how you’re such a pretty flower in the early light

Quiet comments on how precious you were at random times: Washing something? Precious. Reading? Precious.

Nighttime softness full of praises and yearning: “Look at you, lover- so delicate and sweet for me…”

NSFW:

Only when he’s sure the two of you are alone will he make any open moves: pressing you against something to gently grind into you, saying he’s feeling tense

He’ll look more tense, stern, like everyone’s on his nerves before pulling you close to kiss your wrist- “I think you know what needs to be done to fix this, hm?”

If you’re on the couch, or any surface that can support the both of you, he’ll climb onto your lap- straddling you there as he’ll gently nip at your neck or earlobe

#my works #devil may cry x reader #devil may cry #dmc vergil #vergil x reader #dmc dante #dante x reader #dmc nero #nero x reader #x reader #x gn reader #x male reader

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 10 days

Text

Dehya Simping/CHAIR

First of all, Can I say just how pretty Dehya is?

If only the ingame models properly reflected their muscles, I bet her abs could rival concrete.

And also have Arlecchino in a plastic chair for your viewing pleasure.

She should honestly not look as scary as she does in said plastic chair.

(Vergil Voice) But you already knew that.

#not an ask #chris does a dumb #chris does a simping #chris does 3d

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icycoldninja · 23 days

Note

Sorry for all the requesting 🥺😭 This is gonna get dark!

May I please request headcanons for the Sparda boys + V reacting to their female S/O being kidnapped and tortured over a long period of time and they have to deal with the physical and mental aftermath when she’s finally rescued?

Ay, it's no problem. Here ya go, and enjoy!

Sparda boys + V X Fem!Reader kidnapped and tortured headcannons

Warning: As the title implies, there is some dark content coming up with themes of torture involved. If you are uncomfortable with these themes, DNI!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

¤ Dante ¤

-Oh boy. First it was his brother, and now his girlfriend? Whoever dared do this to you is in for a world of pain.

-He doesn't wait around long enough for the kidnapper to send him footage of what was being done to you; the moment he realizes you're in danger, he's hopped on his motorcycle and is looking towards your location which he discovered with his demon instincts.

-He finds you tied to a chair with barbed wire, bloodied, broken, and sobbing. While looking upon your battered and bruised figure, honestly feels like crying himself.

-Oh, his baby, his poor, poor baby. He loved you so much and never, ever, in his wildest dreams, would have wanted to see you hurt like this. He nearly Triggered right there and then, but he held himself back for your sake. He didn't want to terrify you any further than you were now.

-He got you out of that horrible place as fast as he could, his limbs shaking nearly as violently as you were when he carried you out of the kidnapper's hiding place.

-"Hey there, badass. You can relax now, it's all gonna be OK now that I'm here."

-The moment you guys returned to Devil May Cry, he fed you as many green orbs and Ibuprofen tablets as he could without overdosing you. He didn't want you to feel the pain anymore; he wanted you to be smiling and happy again.

-Once the medicine kicked in and you were comfortable enough to sleep, he held you. He refused to let go of you. He clutched you as tightly as he could, tears silently running down his face. How could he allow this to happen?! How could he let you get hurt like this? What kind of devil-hunter extraordinaire was he if he couldn't even protect the only woman in the world he ever truly cared about?

-He was going to spoil you with attention and affection even before you woke up. He wanted you to heal from this, and wanted to be the one to help you heal.

-You are so precious to him, and now he's going to show you just how much in any way he possibly can.

-Expect long, loving cuddles, big hugs every time you walk into a room, and words of affirmation whenever you look down.

-He'll also tenderly treat your wounds and wrap them himself, telling you how strong and brave you are to have survived all that pain every time he does so.

-This whole incident was a massive fright to him; now he's going to hold onto you so tightly, there's no way he could ever lose you again.

■ Vergil ■

-He is so, so, scared, but he refuses to show it. Vergil remembers what it was like to be brutally tortured at the hands of Mundus, so he is enraged and horrified when he finds out the same has been done to you.

-He can't stop himself--and won't. Whoever did this to you doesn't deserve that mercy. He Triggers, and sails away to find you, doing so in a sheer matter of minutes thanks to his demonic instincts.

-He bursts into your kidnappers' hideouts, roaring. He hears your anguished screams and flips into overdrive a second time, literally tearing through the walls as he frantically searched for you.

-The noise scared you, making you think it was the kidnappers returned to torment you further. However, when you saw the hulking, icy-blue devil crash through the wall, your fears were put to rest.

-The moment he saw your battered, torn form bound to a chair with barbed wires jutting into your flesh, he nearly blew up the building and all that was around it.

-There was so much anger coursing through his veins, you could feel it emanating from him, even as he gingerly undid your bonds and scooped you into his massive, scaly arms.

-"Do not cry anymore, Precious. The nightmare is over now. I am here. You are safe."

-He portaled you out of there with the Yamato and immediately took you to the hospital to get your wounds treated.

-He also refused to leave your side for any reason, insisting on staying and watching the doctors work, even if what they were doing was unsettling; he'd seen and been through much worse.

-The entire time, Vergil sat by your bedside, either staring at you intently, or holding your hand. He didn't want to let you go, and most certainly didn't want you to leave his sight.

-The moment you awoke, the first thing Vergil told you was that he loved you. He sounded out of character, considering this was something he rarely ever said aloud, but he was so afraid of losing you, and the PTSD of Mundus's torture was returning to him--he wanted you to have what he never did when he was recovering: comfort.

-He stayed by your side until you were discharged from the hospital, and after that, drove you home, only to wrap you in his arms and cuddle you till you both fell asleep.

-You both would undoubtedly be having nightmares about this for weeks, but for now, at least you were safe in Vergil's arms.

□ Nero □

-He found out what had happened to you in the worst way possible. He received a video from the kidnapper.

-It depicted the kidnapper, who wore a mask to obscure his face, using a crowbar to break your arms and legs while you were suspended by your arms from the ceiling.

-Nero lost it; his pseudo devil trigger Triggered and he was out the door in an instant.

-He doesn't possess the demonic tracking abilities of his father and uncle, unfortunately, but he manages to find you after a good half hour of searching.

-What he walks in on is disgusting. You're begging for mercy, sobbing and screaming under the pain your various broken limbs were causing you, all while your kidnapper laughed.

-Nero wanted to tie this motherfucker up and give him a taste of his own awful medicine, but he had bigger priorities: you.

-He freed you, shushing you when you screamed out in pain, promising he's gonna get you all patched up faster than you can think and that everything is gonna be ok.

-"You can rest now, baby, I gotcha."

-Once he takes you back to Devil May Cry, the entire Sparda clan and their friends are by your side in seconds, with Nero at the forefront. They heal your wounds in seconds and Dante makes corny jokes to lighten the mood.

-Then, they leave you and Nero alone to converse in private. It's a good thing they did, too, because almost as soon as the room was empty, Nero burst into tears, trapping you in a hug and sobbing into your shoulder.

-You ended up crying along with him; the two of you just bawling into each other's shoulders.

-Nero promised to never allow something like this to happen ever again, and spent the remainder of the night lying next to you with his arms and legs wrapped your you like a giant koala on a beat-up tree.

-You were very thankful for this because honestly, you didn't think you could survive this stressful, traumatizing night without having Nero snoring by your side.

● V ●

-V was texted a sickening video by an unknown number, and the moment he opened and watched, he collapsed.

-The kidnapper, standing offscreen, was repeatedly striking younin the face, chest, hips, and other areas with a spiked bat before kicking you in the stomach and shutting the camera--or whatever he used to film the video--off after releasing some unhinged laughter.

-V was terrified. He had no idea how to find you from this meager information, let alone save you.

-Still, he was determined to try, and so, gathering up his cane, he limped along, Shadow at his side and Griffon doing reconnaissance a few feet away.

-After some time, they found you, lying on the floor in an unbelievably deep pool of your own blood, yet still fully awake.

-V would have knelt there and cried, but he forced himself to swallow the tears and lift you to safety.

-Oh, Wanderer...what have they done to you?"

-He brought you to Devil May Cry and patched you up to the best of his abilities, using as many green orbs as he could get his hands on.

-Though your physical words may have been healed, your mental wounds were anything but.

-You were in so much shock, you were shaking from head to toe. V saw this and wished there was more he could do to help, but for now, he would hold your hands, kiss your cheeks, and rest his head in your lap while you told him anything and everything you needed to get off your chest.

-He read to you, too, his soothing voice doing wonders to ease your anxiety and calm you to a point where you could sleep.

-As V watched you slumber, he made a silent pact to always protect you, however he could, for as long as he could. He never wanted to see you go through something like this ever again.

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