kazzy

The slide down is slow but oh so good. Nero's hands go to your hips as you sink down and he groans, head thumping against the bed. His thumbs rub over your hips lovingly as your body accommodates him. His shirt has ridden up to reveal the pale skin of his tummy. His eyes are heavy-lidded, skin flushed from his clavicle to his cheeks, his pale hair damp.

You begin to move, hands planted on his chest as you rise up and sink down, repeating the action. Nero's pink lips part on a soft moan at the feel of your heat enveloping him. His eyes flutter shut. Shit, already that knot of pleasure is forming low in his belly because it's been too long. Then, without warning, you pick up the pace. The sudden change causes him to gasp, hands instinctively squeezing your hips in shock as you begin to bounce. The bed squeaks with the movement and Nero's stomach clenches in overwhelm.

"Fuck s-slow down." Nero groans, staring up at you with pupils blown wide as you ride him, not letting up on that dizzying pace. He barely glimpses the slight, michievous upturned corners of your mouth before you clench around him and Nero fucking whines, torn between trying to still your hips or caressing all he can reach. "Holy shit." He murmurs, eyes rolling as he tips his head back, exposing the column of his throat. You've only just started and he's painfully close. That coil in his stomach tightens and he whimpers, opening his eyes to look up at you. "Riding me so fucking hard slow down—" You squeeze around him again and he makes a strangled sound. His skin breaks out in goosebumps as he pants. "C-c'mon baby don't wanna come yet please not yet." Nero begs breathless and torn but it only spurs you on, bouncing on his cock as an airy laugh tumbles forth from your kiss swollen lips.

He's so fucking close, moaning and whimpering as you ride him. "Fuck, fuck, slow down shit." He can't even buck up to meet you. He's too lost in your tight heat and the delirious pace as well as those pretty little sounds you make. He moans, high and loud. "Yeah, yeah, yeah keep ridin' me like that 'm gonna come." He pleads. It's almost funny how quickly he switches up. Nero can barely keep his eyes open as that coil of pleasure builds and builds. He shifts, planting his feet on the bed as he grips your hips tight and he finally, finally presses up into you. He whines. "Ah shit, 'm gonna fill you, gonna—" Nero groans as he's buried deep. He's gripping your hips tight enough you know there'll be bruises tomorrow as he shoots thick ropes of release into you. A series of soft moans and even whimpers fall from his lips as you help him ride out his orgasm.

Once he's come down and collected himself, Nero rubs soothingly and apologetically up your sides and hips. His brows are pulled together in concern. "You okay sweetheart?" He asks, reaching for one of your hands. Nero knows he can be too rough sometimes. He brings your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your palm and smiling in relief when you giggle and tell him "Yeah I'm fine."

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Dante ⸝⸝

• He somewhat understood at first, having heard of it but never actually thought about it all too much.

• He supports you 100%, even if he doesn’t fully understand. He uses the correct pronouns after adjusting to it, and apologizes if he ever messes up.

• Begins to use the term “partner” when talking about you—if you’re okay with it, he continues using it and anything you ask him to use, though if you prefer something else, he’ll use that instead.

• Seems like the type to buy you pride merchandise to show how much he supports you—silly little things like small flags or shirts, bracelets, etc—to show he loves you and supports you fully.

• Will ask you questions about it—how you knew, what it’s like, is it good, bad, etc. He doesn’t mean to be rude, he’s curious and wants to know more about your identity.

• It will take him time to adjust to the difference, but he will do everything to support you and make you feel loved.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Vergil ⸝⸝

• He knew of the term and understands it fully. He understood the moment you told him.

• He supports you 100%!! Expect him to use the correct pronouns without flaw. As precise as he is with words, he would never dare misgender his significant other.. speaking of that—

• He calls you his significant other. He finds it fitting and more formal when talking about you. If you’re fine with other terms as well, he will use them interchangeably, or if you prefer a different term he’ll use that instead.

• He doesn’t mind buying you pride merchandise, but he doesn’t quite understand why it’s necessary. It is lovely to see you feel comfortable with your identity, but finds the materialistic parts of it unneeded. He’ll buy some for you anyway to make you happy. <3

• Doesn’t feel the need to ask questions about it, feeling it’s more personal and not any of his business. If he genuinely finds himself curious enough about something, he will ask—but consider that a rarity.

• He adjusts immediately, and provides you with unconditional support and love—in his own way.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ V ⸝⸝ 

• Understands it, knows of the term. Surely he’s read something about the beauty of someone defying gender norms…

• Of course, he supports you 100%! He’ll use your correct pronouns immediately. He may mess up once or twice, but after he has it down, expect no more slip-ups, because he’s determined to support you fully.

• He never really uses gendered terms or petnames to begin with, preferring to call you “sparrow”, or “little wanderer”. He’ll call you anything you ask for him to call you, otherwise those two are what he defaults to.

• He’ll buy you pride merchandise if you ask, and while he doesn’t entirely see its need, he’ll provide it for you anyway because it makes you happy.

• He’ll ask questions on occasion, not because he’s unaware of something, but to hear your thoughts and feelings—he likes to hear you voice your opinions on your own identity, since it varies between each person.

• He adjusts almost immediately, like said before, maybe a slip up or two, but he’ll support and love you in every which way he can.

Vergil doesn't talk much about his brothers and refuses to tell you about Sparda, the first android of their type. Whatever. You don't much care. You don't care much for anything these days, really.

Prior to Vergil's arrival, you lived alone. Apathetic in a shitty apartment on the outskirts of Red Grave City, away from your father's technological empire. You tried for years to get in touch with him but he left you to be raised by tutors and nannies that came and went. As you got older, you didn't want anything to do with him or his advancements in technology. So much so when you turned eighteen you never touched the money your father put into your bank account. Changed your last name and moved away. Thought that was the end of it. Didn't think you'd have anything to do with him ever again.

But here you are, living in a luxury apartment with the android your father assigned to you without your permission. Vergil's very presence dredges up years of resentment and abandonment you thought you buried so deep within you they ceased to exist.

It's no wonder then, why you begin to backtrack to your room as soon as you catch sight of Vergil seated on the couch in the dark living room. You turn on your heel, biting your tongue. You only spent time around him if you had to and even then you tolerated him.

You take a step back toward your room, being as quiet as possible, not wanting to draw the android's attention.

"Come here." Vergil says and you still, inwardly cursing. Of course he heard you. Android hearing and all that. You're certain he knows what your heart rate is right now, your temperature. You take a deep breath and turn back to face the living room, glaring at the back of Vergil's head as he flips a page in his book, continuing to read. Unaffected by the lack of light. Casual and relaxed.

"What?" You say sharply, crossing your arms over your chest in frustration, unable to resist the slight rocking back and forth on your feet.

"I want to talk. Come here." He repeats, with that same low, gentle tone he uses to get you to eat. The windows of the highrise apartment are blacked out, blocking out any potential prying eyes yet giving you a clear, if less bright, look at the large buildings of the city.

"I won't tell you a third time." You drop your arms to your sides and fight the urge to stomp over like a child throwing a tantrum. Slowly you patter over, hallway carpet giving way to smooth wood flooring. You come to stand in front of Vergil. He closes his book with a faint thump, sets it down on the armrest of the blue velvet chesterfield sofa. He then pats the space beside him. "Sit." Spoken like an order. You bite the inside of your cheek but comply, keeping some space between you two. The little lamp on the side stand comes on and you know it's Vergil's doing. You blink a little as your eyes adjust to the change in lighting.

"Okay. Talk." You mumble, glancing over at him. Unfair how he can look so impeccable. He's dressed in a white button up shirt and black slacks. The top two buttons are undone to reveal a bit of his pale throat and clavicle. His silvery-white hair is slicked back in his preferred style.

Vergil's shifts to face you, his knee a hair's breadth from bumping your thigh. He has an elbow resting on the back of the sofa, two fingers along his temple. "Oh? Two words this time. I didn't know you were capable." He says with a teasing lilt.

Your nails dig crescent moons into your right palm. "Did you ask me to sit here just to torment me?"

Vergil chuckles, the sound low, incredibly human and unexpectedly pleasant. "No. I... want to make things easier for you and I." That catches you off guard, your eyebrows pulling together slightly in a mix of confusion and surprise. Vergil is being nice, and you hate it. Hate the way he uses that gentle, patient tone. Hate the way it makes you want to give in and drop your carefully crafted detached demeanor. Hate the way hearing that tone makes you crave his approval. Your knee begins to bounce as you cross your arms over your chest. You huff in frustration as you turn your head to look at him. "Like anything will make it easier to be babysat by a fucking machine?" You snap.

In a flash Vergil grips your jaw, thumb along one cheek and his fingers pressing into your other, forcing your mouth into a pout. "Careful." He whispers leaning in, artificial breath warm as it fans lightly over your face. You can't speak clearly with the way your lips are pressed into an unwilling pout. Your eyes narrow as you catch the faint upturned corners of his mouth, anger flaring at the sight. His grip on your jaw lingers a moment longer before releasing.

"I don't need a hunk of plastic to—" You're cut off by Vergil's right hand fisting the collar of your shirt, exposing the warm soft skin of your tummy. You gasp in surprise. Vergil wastes no time in using his hold on your shirt to haul you over his lap, draping you over his thighs with ease. The action knocking a bit of air from your lungs. Your hands press flat along the rough area rug of the living room, your socked feet slip a little as you attempt to push yourself up and off his lap.

"I was wondering when you'd break." A warm hand comes down to press at your lower spine, resting just above the waistband of your jeans, the tip of a pinky slipping teasingly below the denim. The small skin to skin contact makes you dizzy, causing you to still, heart stuttering in your chest as your breathing becomes shallow. "W-what the hell are you doing?" You ask, craning your neck and pushing up on your hands to try and look at him, hair getting in your face.

Vergil's free hand reaches down to wrap delicately around your throat, not applying any pressure. No squeezing. His touch is soft, near feather light. Grounding, even. Vergil removes it in favor of giving your hair a brief stroke as if you're some pet in his lap and not a grown adult. He leans down a little.

"You," he begins voice quiet and a little rough in the low light of the living room. "Are going to say Yamato if you feel unsafe. Or if this gets to be too much."

Your breath catches in your throat, heat pooling in your stomach immediately even as your brain is slow to piece this all together. "W-what?" You ask in disbelief but there's heat low in your tummy and Vergil's hand on that bit of exposed skin above your waistband. Comforting, teasing, and intoxicating all at once. "I want you to say it now." Vergil's voice is a coaxing purr. You swallow, tongue darting out to lick at your lips, mouth suddenly feeling dry. "Y-yamato." You stammer, face hot as you hang your head.

"Good." Is all you get before Vergil's hands go to your jeans, fingers hooking in the waistband and pulling the denim halfway down your thighs. Swift and rough. You gasp, fingers digging a little into the area rug below you. Vergil runs a hand up the back of your right thigh, thumb brushing along the crease where your ass meets it, just below the edge of your underwear. You begin to squirm.

"I've been wanting to correct your behavior for a while now." He says and you huff in indignation. "M-my behavior is fine."

Vergil scoffs and pinches your ass cheek harshly. You jolt, a squeak tumbling forth. "Excluding the rude insults from a moment ago, you're rather... polite most of the time, yes." Vergil replies, running his palm over the area he pinched soothingly before giving a light squeeze. You moan softly. Embarrassment and molten want swirl in your stomach, your senses in overdrive. Vergil snickers. "But even I get tired of one word answers and sulking. I think I might have more of a personality than you." He says dryly as he grips the waistband of your underwear, bunching it up and pulling the cloth taught against your slit and you can feel how slick you've become. You press up a little on your toes, gasping as he pulls the fabric tighter, nearly wedging the fabric in your middle.

"Ah, wet already." Vergil all but purrs as he ghosts his thumb over the damp spot with his free hand. Your breath catches in your throat, heart beating wildly against your ribcage. He clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. "I've hardly done anything, dear. A few touches and a pinch really get you that worked up?" You whimper in humiliation as Vergil tugs the material down to rest under the curve of your ass.

Without warning Vergil's palm connects with the soft skin of your right cheek, stinging and sharp and aching. You cry out in surprise. "H-hey!"

"I want an apology." Vergil states coolly, rubbing and gently squeezing the reddening flesh of your rear. Your mouth struggles to form words, head full of want. Vergil scoffs and smacks harshly against your left cheek this time. Once, twice, three times before doing the same to your right. He hits sharp and hard, stealing the breath from your lungs. You've never been spanked before, haven't received any real physical discipline growing up. Your nannies and even your father in your early years opted for isolation. You wonder if you'll bruise. The thought shouldn't make you ache and leak but it does, hole clenching around nothing. "I-I'm sorry!" You squeal, panting as your arms tremble from holding a bit of your weight up at the awkward angle. He could have laid you over his lap on the sofa but you suspect Vergil wanted the position to be a little uncomfortable.

"Oh you can do better than that."

You swallow and collect yourself as best you can. "I'm sorry for calling you a hunk of plastic and a machine." You mumble, slumping a little, head hanging once more, hair hiding your face. Humiliated and turned on, out of your element and overwhelmed. The word yamato rests in your throat at the ready but you don't want to say it. You don't feel as if you need to.

Vergil hums as if in thought. "And? What of your behavior?" He asks, soothing his palm over the pink heated skin of your ass. You nod in understanding. "I'm... sorry for that, too. I-I'll stop... sulking." You stammer, the words awkward on your tongue. When was the last time you had to apologize for anything? When was the last you actually had anyone to apologize to?

"Better." Vergil murmurs, pulling the fabric of your underwear back up to cover you and you whine, aching and needy. Vergil hushes you as he pulls your jeans up to your rear. He taps your hip and helps you stand. His pale fingers tug at your belt loops, pulling you close to stand between his spread legs. Your hands go to his shoulders for support as your knees feel a tad weak.

Vergil looks up at you from his spot on the sofa, maintaining eye contact as he pulls up your pants the rest of the way. An unnameable intensity in his pale blue gaze. He smooths out your shirt, however the collar of it is stretched from Vergil using it to haul you over his lap.

"Sit with me." A soft command. He leans back against the blue velvet sofa, draping an arm along the back of it. The ache between your thighs begins to fade. You've never been in this sort of situation before. Fuck. You've hardly had a meaningful conversation with Vergil and you certainly haven't been spanked until tonight. Although it wasn't much. A million questions flood your head but you don't have the energy to ask them or word them properly.

Overwhelmed you fall back on simply listening. You settle onto the cushion beside him, ass aching. Vergil moves his arm from the back of the sofa to pull you further into his side. He tucks some of your hair behind your right ear.

"Are you alright?" Vergil asks and you nod as you stare at your lap. He sighs and his free hand comes up to gently grab your chin so you're forced to look at him. His brows are knit together, mouth set in a slight frown as he looks you over. "Come here." He says, not really waiting for an answer before reaching and pulling you into his lap, his arm moving from your shoulder to wrap around your lower back. Your left side grows warm as it's pressed to his front and his right hand rubs over your hip in a soothing manner. Unsure of how to respond to Vergil's affectionate physical contact you stiffen momentarily. You haven't been hugged since... when? You can't remember.

Gradually, you will yourself to relax, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder. You'd expect an android to smell like plastic but Vergil smells good. Like sandalwood and vanilla with the faintest hint of something metallic. Does he wear cologne? You wonder. Vergil's hand not on your hip goes to your hair, stroking softly, palm sometimes grazing your cheek. It feels good to be held. It's warm here. Safe. Secure.

A lump forms in your throat. Heat creeps into your cheeks as your vision blurs. A soft, broken sound leaves your throat as your lashes grow damp and spikey from tears that slide down your cheeks to trail down your chin. Vergil sighs again and you sniffle. A small strained "'m sorry" leaving your lips. Vergil shakes his head, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the tears under an eye. "Don't be. I was prepared for this sort of outcome." You huff a quiet laugh against his shoulder that's more air than anything. "H-how did you know I'd cry?" You ask, sniffling as you blink back more tears. Vergil resumes stroking your hair. "Going off your behavior and your history, there was a high probability you would react this way."

"You can... calculate that?" You whisper.

Vergil hums. "Not accurately." He answers but doesn't bother to elaborate further.

Tired but not as overwhelmed, the gentle stroking of your hair and the warm hand on your hip has your limbs growing heavy.

"It's alright." Vergil murmurs, lips near your forehead. "You can sleep. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow."

As much as you try to fight sleep in an attempt to drag this moment out, to stay here, held and warm and wanted, it's impossible. Your body grows lax and your eyes fall shut.

"Sleep well." Vergil says, low and whisper soft against your hair.

ִ ࣪𖤐