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i’ll come back

vergil sparda x f!reader

a/n: childhood friend and halfbreed reader. spoilers for the dmc anime season 2!!!! on that note, episode 8 had be SOBBING. also, use of y/n as a heads up.

you didn’t know what to make of the situation. the moment you come to your senses, you realize you’re somehow in makai— the demon realm.

you look up to meet the large, pink split in the sky— sparda’s barrier, falling apart little by little. your breath hitches in response.

everything comes back in pieces— your short, heart wrenching reunion with vergil, argosax’s unfortunate resurrection, dante telling you to get somewhere safe, the barrier between makai and earth being split open, lady yelling your name as the vortex above sucked you in.

it’s been years since you’ve seen vergil, years of believing that he died that night.

the days where little you and vergil ran around the playground on a bright day, a contagious smile on your face.

“come back!” vergil shouted, his laugh filling the moment.

“better catch me!” you’d squeal back.

or the day where the two of you sat together in a forest, watching the sunset paint the sky in a gorgeous orange.

“do you think i’m dangerous?” vergil asks quietly, and your wide eyes turn to meet his. “not at all.”

his gaze flickers to the ground, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. “mom always told us to never use our powers, even though i’m weaker than dante is.”

vergil grits his teeth. “i’m not as special as he is. but it still makes me someone that shouldn’t ever show who i am. because of…”

“that doesn’t change how i see you.” you say, turning your body towards his. vergil’s breath hitches, but you continue. “if anything, i should be just as dangerous as you. even if i never knew my mom… i know we’re the same thing.”

“…you’re still special to me, vergil.“

vergil stares at you for a moment before glancing away, and you could’ve sworn you caught a smile; and maybe even a blush. “thank you.”

years that you never got to tell him how stupid you are were— holding onto these stubborn feelings for oldest son of sparda.

you didn’t get the chance to even start that kind of conversation. not that he didn’t recognize you, but the timing is oh, so terrible.

and right, you can’t breathe. makai isn’t ideal for any sapiens, as vergil would say— or halfbreeds with no control of their devil triggers.

you barely got to talk to him before literal hell broke loose. glances were shared, but how could you know what was going through his head?

someone’s voice stirrs you awake completely.

“that night, if our positions were switched, would our fates be different? would i have your life, and you mine?”

you sit up in a violent coughing episode, weakly gazing around for either of the sparda siblings. and thankfully, you spot them both, and they’re already looking at you.

“y/n,” vergil’s voice comes out hushed, tone underlying with something undefined.

but that’s not what has your attention.

dante’s being held up by vergil’s fist, tons of blood spilling from his mouth to his jaw. you can hear his struggling attempts to breath through the pain, the sound sending a chilling wave through your spine. vergil’s hand is glowing blue, pulsing against the blood stained on dante’s clothes.

argosax is nowhere to be seen, and someone special is standing before them. mundus, the current king of makai. watching the showdown between the sons of sparda.

“dante! vergil, what—“ your voice responds before your brain can. but before you know it or dante can even respond, he’s gone in the blink of an eye. you look up to find him blasted away towards the rift above, something purple and shiny following him.

it’s the amulet from sparda’s sword. vergil must’ve thrown it up with dante. and better yet, the rift’s beginning to close.

“no!” mundus bellows, his voice shaking the ground below.

your vision’s beginning to black out from the lack of fresh air. your hands slam onto the ground in an attempt to hold yourself up; chest heaving. suddenly, a flash of blue is kneeled in front of you, warm hands grounding you. it’d be nice if it weren’t for the given situation.

“breathe. focus on your darkness.” vergil murmurs, voice commanding. with a weak groan, you manage, summoning whatever you have left of your energy. your vision snaps back with he success, and makai’s air feels less painful to breathe in.

his piercing blue eyes meet yours, close enough to see your reflection in them. “what are you doing, vergil?” you say, voice a near whimper as fear begins to pool within you.

for the first time in years, you see him hesitate, mouth opening before a response comes out. “i can’t tell you. i’ll have to tell you when this is all over.”

“tell me what!?” you question, alarm seeping through. “answer me!” he doesn’t say anything, but his hands unexpectedly hold onto your waist, holding you above him. it’s almost like time has stopped in this moment, like the demon king wasn’t looming above you both.

you’re speechless for a moment, staring down at him in disbelief. “vergil?” his eyes narrow, and the situation dawns on you. he’s sending you back with dante.

“no, wait, please.” your voice wavers, and something in his eyes flicker— regret, or was it something warm?

your limp arms come up to his hands in a desperate attempt to make him put you down. “don’t send me back. i can’t go yet. i just got you back!” you exclaim, eyes frantically searching his face for anything. reluctance, acceptance, something that tells you that he is acknowledging what you want.

“please, vergil. don’t make me go.” your voice breaks, eyes beginning to burn.

to your utter surprise, he cracks the smallest smile ever, softening the edges of his eyes. vergil’s head dips slightly, almost in amusement.

his hands glow the same blue they did on dante, and a horrible, terrifying pressure sends you up. your lungs feel like they’re being crushed under the air pressure, a gasp being ripped from your throat.

towards the rift. away from vergil.

your vision blurs with tears. your heart hurts. please, not again.

“vergil!” you scream. your hand stretches towards his frame that gets smaller the farther you get, the tears falling freely theough the wind.

everything around you falls silent, and only his voice remains. “i’ll come back, y/n. i’ll find you, tell you everything. wait for me until then.”

your voice gives out as the portal closes after you, sealing you out of makai. and away from the man you love after years of lies.

Vergil

Devil May Cry NEW SEASON

── .✦ TEN AM.

a/n; funnily enough, i was a dante girl when i got into dmc, now all i seem to write for is vergil,,, cw; none! maybe one section is a little suggestive, but otherwise this is mainly fluff.

Vergil’s chest is your preferred pillow, sprawled across his lap or between his legs; your preferred place to rest. Said man lets his hand stay burrowed in the tresses cloaking your skull, while his other hand holds a book. You’re forced to read the back cover of a lengthy novella;

‘…secrets of man’s nature,’ 

‘…depths of evil’ ‘…luminous possibilities of love.’ 

…Vergil’s gracious enough to leave a few inches between it and your face. 

At the very least it has a pretty picture of a cottage to go along with it and not a portrait of the author's face. You can’t bear to stare at Blake’s face any longer, so, this is a nice change of pace. 

But you didn’t exactly intend to spend your morning staring at a paperback.

(P.S. I will be adding more and more tags until tumblr doesn’t let me put any more)

Your words carry a simple message yet they strike Dante directly in his heart just the same.

Standing in your little apartment kitchen, leaning against the edge of the Formica countertops you've always hated, he gazes down at you with nothing short of adoration in his eyes while sipping from a steaming mug of coffee you just poured for him.

How the conversation led to such an admission is beyond him, you two were playing your usual slow morning game of naming the things you wish you could do instead of going to work. Flying to Italy for a shot of espresso, perusing the vintage store you're such a fan of, reading, seeing a movie, spending all day in bed together with your limbs so tangled they're inseparable.

No matter what, all paths led back to this honesty that's as bare as your pretty little face in these early morning hours.

This is your version of vulnerability and he knows it, opting to place his coffee down on the counter and lean in toward you, wrapping his mug-warmed hands around your cheeks to hold them while he stares at you.

Everything that matters to him is right here, in your eyes and the smile you try to hide behind the lip of your own coffee mug. It's in the way you subtly lean toward him, always inching closer and closer.

"The kind where we pretend we're the sort of people with time and money?" He asks playfully, heart pounding and gut turning as it always does when he's faced with the reality that he can never give you what you truly deserve.

You're too kind to ever make a demand of him beyond "get home safely, if you don't mind" or "hey, pass me the remote". You don't ask for riches or accolade or success or anything but him, exactly as he is.

He is more than simply good enough for you, he's everything your wild imagination could've ever conjured up made muscle and bone and flesh.

Shaking your head and wrinkling your nose, he fights the urge to kiss you, opting to let you speak first.

"No, silly. The kind where we do this every morning," you clarify, looking up at him through your lashes, nose now wrinkled in sweet mirth rather than disagreement.

Never in his wildest fantasies or dreams or wishes could he have imagined this would be how things ended up.

Even back when he was a foul mouthed, ill behaved kid, you believed in the man that is he. One could argue he's still both of those things, just a little broader, slightly more relaxed, and far more domestic all thanks to years and years of your warmth and patience and acceptance.