✧

Your hand is tracing his demonic arm —and ever since he showed you his arm. You've been so fascinated and obsessed with it. —.  You're really glad that Nero trusts you enough to be this vulnerable around you— he even told you about his secret of being a demon! Your other hand went up to play with his hair, letting a purr escape from his mouth.

"So good f'me…" he groaned, moving his head to lie fully on top of your chest and nuzzling deeper, tightening his arms around.

You let out a breathy giggle, bringing the other hand that was previously playing with his arm to his head to push his hair back from his forehead. You leaned in to place a kiss on his forehead, causing him to close his eyes to live in the moment.

Nero was about to drift to sleep, already being in cloud nine from the love you were pampering him with. His grip around you was loosening a bit to fall asleep, until finally—

"You're pretty." You muttered after a while, caressing his face and jaw. His eyes opened wide; his ears turned pink. He did not expect it, nor would he admit he liked it and blushed.

"Pretty?" he propped himself up with his elbow, looking at you as if you insulted him— and you’d really believe it if you hadn’t noticed the tint appearing on his cheeks. "I'm a man. I can't be 'pretty'."

"Yeah, ok. Whatever, pretty boy." You were trying so hard to muffle your laughter, but the look on his pretty face was one of a kind. Yet Nero couldn’t help but laugh with you. And being the little shit he is, he slid one hand under your shirt to tickle you.

Your apartment fell into silence after laughter was the only thing heard in it; the only thing that's heard now is the sound of your heavy breathing and occasional quiet giggles.

Nero looked at you— really looked. As if he was studying your face and how you look beneath him to carve into his brain forever. It was impossible to hold eye contact with him due to how deeply he was glaring at you.

Slowly, his fingers went to your chin, tilting your head to meet his eyes despite trying so hard to still look annoyed at you for calling him pretty; your figure lying under him with half of your stomach exposed and giggles escaping your mouth never fails to make him melt and fall in love all over you again.

Nero had enough. He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours before capturing them in a kiss that speaks more than words.

He was never good with words; his foul mouth makes him seem harsh and look like he doesn't like anybody— and it's kind of true, but it doesn't apply to you at all. So, he prefers to pour all of his love at you through actions and kisses.

And you completely understand everything he's trying to tell you. You understand his kisses that try to tell you that he adores you; you understand his actions that tell you he trusts you. A lot. Which never fails to make butterflies grow in your stomach.

You cupped his cheeks to deepen the kiss even more to tell him you love him too in his language. Nero's now completely on top of you, trapping your head between his arms and your lower body between his legs, yet he's careful to not crush you with his weight.

You finally pulled away from each other to breathe. Nero leaned in again to rest his forehead on top of yours, panting heavily before a silly grin appeared on his face.

"Oh my god—  stop looking this cute!" you immediately squealed, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his middle to drop him completely on you in excitement.

"Oh, c'mon!"

“Why are you like this?!” you blurted.

“…Excuse me?” he asked bluntly.

“You’re so, SO-” You struggled to find the word, clearly losing the battle. “CUTE.”

The word hit him like an insult.

“I am not—”

He didn’t get to finish. You leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. Vergil froze. You didn’t stop there. Another kiss. Then another. Rapid, soft, relentless all over his face.

“You’re so focused and serious and it’s adorable,” you continued, voice rushing out. “And the way you hold Yamato like it’s the most important thing in the world its just- UGH, I can’t!”

“Enough-”

“You’re doing it again!” you gasped, somehow more excited. “That look! That tiny frown you do!!”

Another kiss. Vergil’s brain short-circuited. He had ruled hell. He is not 'cute'. His posture stiffened, shoulders locking as if that might somehow stop you. It didn’t. Your hands moved to his shoulders now, steadying yourself as you leaned in again, pressing affection into every inch of his personal space.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured fondly. “Do you even realize how you look right now?”

“I look,” he said carefully, voice strained, “perfectly composed.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

He wasn’t.

There was the faintest hint of red creeping up his neck. His eyes refused to meet yours now, fixed somewhere just past your shoulder and his grip on Yamato had tightened slightly. Your expression softened even more.

“Oh no,” you whispered. “You’re embarrassed.”

“Foolishness. I am not-”

You kissed him again. That shut him up.

Vergil exhaled slowly, as if recalibrating. “This behavior is… unnecessary.”

“And yet,” you said, already leaning in again, “I’m not stopping.”

A pause. “…I gathered.”

You smiled, clearly pleased with yourself, and brushed your thumb along his cheek.

“You’re really putting up with this, you know.”

Vergil huffed quietly. “I am... tolerating it.”

“Mm-hm.”

Another kiss, slower this time. His eyes flicked toward you for just a second before darting away again. Your grin widened.

“Oh, you like it.”

“I did not say that.” he rushed out.

“But you didn’t stop me either.”

Silence. That was answer enough.

Vergil turned his head slightly, attempting to regain some sense of control. “If you are finished-”

“I’m not.” you interrupted, kissing down his cheek and continuing down his neck.

“…Clearly.”

You leaned your forehead against his for a moment, the energy settling into something still affectionate and overwhelming, but so much gentler.

“You’re really cute,” you said again, quieter this time.

Vergil closed his eyes briefly, as if enduring something far more dangerous than any battle.

“…That word does not suit me.”

“It does today.”

Another pause. Then a barely audible “…Tch.” But he didn’t move away.

The popcorn lands perfectly atop his head. An odd butter yellow against his silver hair.

Nero pauses mid-wipe.

His hand rises to his head. Fingers brush the kernel free. He stares at it for a long moment before letting it fall to the table.

“…Babe,” he says, voice low and even.

You widen your eyes innocently. “Yes?”

He turns his head just enough to look at you over his shoulder. One eyebrow raised.

“Did you just throw popcorn at me?”

You place a hand over your heart. “I would never disrespect you like that.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes, and turns back to his sword. Because he trusts you. Because he loves you. Because he is, tragically, optimistic.

You take another piece.

The second kernel.

You weigh it between your fingers. This one feels important. Destiny-bound. World-altering.

You flick it.

It arcs gracefully. Bounces off his temple. Drops to the floor.

Silence.

Nero sets his cloth down.

Then his tools.

Then he straightens slowly, shoulders rolling back.

He turns around.

And looks at you.

“…That was two,” he says holding up his first two fingers.

You smile sweetly. “Good job, sweetheart! I didn't know you could count that high.”

His eye twitches. Just once, but you see it.

He starts walking toward you.

Not fast. Not slow. Just steady. Purposeful. Like a man marching toward his fate.

You shuffle backward on the couch in a last-ditch effort to escape, knocking the popcorn bowl to the floor in the process. Too late.

He reaches you in seconds, catching your wrists and gently pinning them above your head as he climbs over the cushions. One knee on either side of your hips. Close enough that you can feel his breath against your cheek.

Not aggressive. Just your dramatic boyfriend.

He leans down closer to your ear.

“You know,” he says quietly, “I spent my entire childhood learning self-control so I wouldn’t blow up every time someone annoyed me.”

You try very hard not to laugh. “How’s that going for you?”

“Not great,” he admits.

He lowers his forehead to yours, eyes closing briefly.

“I didn’t react to the first one because it was cute,” he murmurs. “And I didn’t want to encourage… whatever this behavior is,” he adds.

You grin. “Scientific research.”

He exhales through his nose.

“…I’m dating a menace.”

You nod proudly.

He kisses your forehead. Then your nose. Then your cheek. Resigned. Hopeless. Yours.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he mutters.

“You adore me,” you correct.

“…Unfortunately,” he says, before kissing you anyway.

From the kitchen doorway, Dante appears, beer in hand, eyes scanning the battlefield:

Popcorn on the floor. Nero draped over you on the couch. You looking victorious.

He gives a thumbs-up.

“Nice work, kid.”

Nero, without lifting his head, snatches a couch pillow and hurls it. Perfect aim. Dante vanishes behind the doorframe with a laugh.

Nero sighs and lets his full weight settle onto you, face tucked against your shoulder.

“I am never letting you have popcorn again.”

You card your fingers through his hair.

“But I thought you loved me,” you teased.

“…I do,” he mutters, voice softer now. He doesn’t move from your arms for a long while.

In all honesty you’ve got every little thing about Nero memorized, how his jaw ticks when he’s annoyed, the way his brow furrows when he’s starting to count to ten in his head—the glaringly obvious neon sign that is His Devil Bringer. The thing goes haywire the moment he’s ready to lash out. And, it’s wrong. Really, it is, to purposefully push his buttons just to rile him up, but Nero makes it so, so easy. 

The only difference is, now, he doesn’t have to restrain himself when it comes to you. But would he ever take that step? Probably not. He forced your hand. A week-long solo trip to Red Grave is just what set it all in motion. 

First, Nico came in to play. For the right price—the chance to annoy Nero—She was all too willing. You just hoped she wouldn’t lay it on too thick, just a little nudge in the right direction.

“Don’t you think maybe she’s gettin’ a little bored?” she’d drawled into the phone, Nero gave a quiet hum. Were you getting bored? No. That can’t be. You looked at him like he’d hung the damn moon and the stars.

“Bored…? No. She’s just…distant.”

“Well what’s your sex life like? Five years is a long time to be datin’.”

"You two regular?"

Nero rolled his eyes.

“I’m not telling you about our sex life.” He shot back into the phone.

“Lemme guess? Missionary, Cowgirl, hell, you’re the sentimental type—spoonin’?” 

Nero’s silence was answer enough. She clicked her tongue. No wonder you’d come to her. Nero would’ve never considered it without a shove in the right direction.

“ A girl like her? She’s gotta get bored of that eventually...”

“…you don’t think it’s a ‘nother guy do ya?” She let the words hang in the air, before taking a drag. “Naw, I don’t think she’d do that.”

Nero went numb, staring at nothing in particular as he mulled over Nico's words.

"Tough luck if she is."

First, you dodged his calls, then when you did answer them with, you’d cut them short an ‘i’m tired, miss you, mhm? wow.’ Bored little things that were unlike you.

Were you getting bored? He refused to think you were cheating. That just couldn’t be possible. He stewed on it, didn’t eat when Dante came home with something greasy, didn’t open up about it either. 

Were you bored of him? You couldn’t be. He was it for you, you’d said so. You liked him for as long as you could remember. So why would Nico say that? You wouldn’t. 

He was sure of it. Didn’t mean the implication didn’t irritate him to no end. 

—

This was something you hadn’t anticipated. Whatever Nico told him blew right up in your face. Nero’s been distant, cold. 

And it was entirely your fault. 

He didn’t confront you over your own manufactured distance while he was away, nor did he give you any inkling he was reverting back to the old Nero who would’ve already had a hole punched into the wall before apologizing vehemently.

He just…was. And that was arguably worse.

The quiet of your shared apartment was unbearable, Nero sat on the couch watching TV as if you didn’t even exist was something you couldn’t stand. Goddamn. You needed to get some air, needed to find out what Nico told him, had to figure out how good of an apology you had to come up with.

“Going out for a bit.” You announced, slinging a tote bag over your shoulder. 

“Where to?” Nero asked, his gaze dropped down to your bag before it came right back up, it lingered. Suspiciously. “Need me to come with?”

What do you do? Go over to him and press a kiss to his cheek like nothing happened? Like you two hadn’t been doing this little dance over fragile cracked glass for days now?

You offered a small smile. “No, I'm fine, babe. Just light groceries. Be back soon.” He gives you a small nod before turning back to watch his show. No pushing, no prodding. Just silence.

The door shuts behind you with a quiet click. Your shoulders slump. You were in over your head and you knew it.

You can’t exactly keep pretending you hadn’t iced him out while he was away, but admitting the truth was just downright embarrassing—Hey, so. Yeah. I kind of wish you’d be a bit rougher and I came up with this plan and it sort of backfired. Do you hate me now?

No. Absolutely not.

Your steps became a little hurried once you hit the stairs, you needed to drown these thoughts out by being human for a second, you’ll walk down the market aisles til you forget you’ll come home to an ice cube. You’ll get flowers, you’ll make steak, you’ll…

—get dragged into an alleyway…? 

You hadn’t even noticed the steps tumbling behind you, not until an arm banded around your waist tightly and dragged you out of sight. Your heart thumped frantically against your chest—wasn’t there a holy knight nearby? If you screamed would anyone even hear? Nero would, wouldn’t he?

“Get off!” You snarled, kicking and thrashing, putting up as best a fight as you could, which arguably, wasn’t saying much.

“Get off? Fine by me.” 

You recoiled. Nero? 

You blinked, went limp in his arms like deadweight. Could’ve been comical if it weren’t for the yelp you let out when he shoved you to the floor. Your heart raced for an entirely different reason now once your eyes met his. Nero was pissed, his lip curled up to showcase a canine. 

Your fault for leaving your journal out. Not that you knew he’d snooped.

“Open.” His hand was already working his zipper open, pulling himself out through the opening of his boxers, stroking himself languidly in front of your face.

“What?” You blurted, lashes batting in surprise. As if you misheard him. As if you couldn’t see.

Your gaze dropped. Saliva pooling at the sight, pre-cum already dribbled out from the slit. “Not askin’ twice, open up.” He grunted, his Devil Bringer found your throat, the warm scaly ridges made your thighs squeeze when he restricted your airflow. You’re into choking, what a wonderful way to find out. 

The tip of his cock nudges against your lips, smearing his pre-cum around like gloss. Your lips part tentatively, he jumps at the opening, guiding his cock past your lips and biting his tongue on a groan. 

“There we go, that’s it.” He murmurs. “Knew you were good for somethin’.” Nero’s hips stutter into your mouth, slowly at first before he picks up a pace that forces you to hum around him, eyes half lidded and hands folded together in your lap, gripping the fabric tightly. You were good for a lot of things, this however, was arguably at the top of what you knew to do best.

His free hand cups the curve of your cheek softly, sliding up slowly you almost think it’s a reward, quiet praise, until it buries itself in your hair and his fingers curl around a fistful of it, tugging harshly to make you cry out around him.

“Fuck you’re so pretty,” He blurts out. His other hand tightens its hold on your throat, feeling it distend with each thrust as he picks up his pace, watching your eyes fill to the brim with tears, fat globs rolling down your cheeks. So pretty, too pretty of a face to be getting used like this. He almost felt bad. But this is what you wanted.

Right. It’s your fault you’re on your knees like this. 

He wouldn’t have had to do this if you’d just been good, if you’d been honest, if you’d just talked to him. But you hadn’t. You lied and omitted. Knowing Nero was just right there, all ears. Now all you get is the grimy gravelly floor right besides the garage instead of the nice plush bed in your shared apartment, just out of reach.

“Tell me something,” He mutters. “Nico thinks you’re cheating.”

Your eyes widened. You nearly choked on his cock. Cheating. You? On Nero? The thought was absurd.

“You’re not, right?”

You let out a muffled ‘mm-m!’ around him that forced a moan from his lips and sent a warmth crawling up his spine. But it all made sense now. Why he was icing you out. You’d do the same if you thought he’d ever cheated on you. 

Back then it was cute watching Nero get riled up whenever he got an inkling someone could usurp his spot besides you, you’d think after years of dating he’d know he’s not going anywhere—but, he doesn’t. 

You realize your mistake. The Devil Bringer is at fault for that, you think. He pulls his cock out of your mouth tipping your head back and tapping the tip against your tongue while you suck in air greedily.

“No, no ‘not…” You shake your head, a little whimper slips past, arousal meshes with a tinge of fear as you give a tiny little buck against your hand, when it slipped down and made its home between your legs? You’re unsure, but seeing Nero like this has you wishing he’d just get more impatient with you. The harsh set of his glare screams disapproving, promises you won’t walk right anytime soon, makes your pupils go from round to heart shaped.

“‘s what I thought.” He chuffs quietly. Your lips wrap around the tip, suckling gently, swallowing down the precum slipping past. “You wanted it just like this huh? In some fucking alleyway?”

The way he says it makes you feel like a whore, maybe you are one. When you don’t reply as fast as he’d like a thought settles into his mind, he moves on instinct.

The palm of his hand connects with your cheek, shock settles over you before it fades away leaving behind a small mark and a needle and pins feeling thrumming under your skin and a shameful burst of arousal. Fuck, were you really into this? All signs point to yes, no reason you’d be fluttering around nothing if you weren’t. You blame the Order. Sexual repression only leads to deviancy.

You give a little nod and a small moan. No point in replying when your throat has better use elsewhere. His fingers curl around your jaw, working his cock past your lips again, driving himself all the way back home and dragging a gag out of you.

“F…Fuck,” He mutters, his brows furrow. Your throat constricts around him with each gag, pretty crystalline droplets form on your lash line.

It’s addicting in a way, taking what he wants with no restraint, he gets why you’re interested in this, Fortuna must’ve messed with your brain too, you’re too comfortable with being on your knees. Maybe that was just his fault though.

Your cheeks hollow, suckling a little more earnestly, lashes fluttering with each slow bob, trying to keep up with him was useless when he’s rutting into your mouth like it’s your cunt, there’s not much of a difference, both are warm, slick and tight. Both bring him to the edge faster than he’d like.

His fingers cradle the back of your head, gently, before he remembers where you both are, what you’re both doing, only then is that familiar strain being placed on your scalp again. Mean. He’s gotta be mean, it’s what you wanted, what you asked for months ago, too late to back out now. Your nose finds the patch of hair out the fabric of his boxers, neatly maintained for you with each thrust. 

Each little grunt he lets out makes your fingers work your clit faster, you’d forget how to breathe if it weren’t for the need to live to feel him stretch you out again. In through your nose, and out again slowly.

The coil in his gut pulls taut, settles over him like a warm blanket before it's torn off and he’s dunked in ice—if getting dunked could ever be euphoric. His release pools on your tongue, his cock gives small twitches with each spurt. He lazily grinds his hips against your face, lets you do all the work of cleaning him up while he’s trying not to pull out with a whine.

When you finally pull off of him, his cock smacks against his thigh with a wet slap. A sigh leaves his lips. Though, the spell is broken when he remembers he smacked his girlfriend. His loving girlfriend might he add, and panic floods his system, drowning the euphoria in anxiety.

He tips his head down to stare at you, searching your face for any regret, when he finds none, it still isn’t enough.

“You okay…?” He asks softly, his hand shakily moves to cup your face, his thumb smears a tear along your cheek, it’s still warm where he’d smacked you earlier. His lips purse.

Fuck. Maybe he took it too far.

Were you upset? Did he hurt you? Were you—

“Mhm-“ You grin up at him, a small wet giggle leaves your swollen lips as you nod eagerly, poking your tongue out just to show him you swallowed. His jaw clenches, if only he didn’t have a refractory period. 

“ ‘m fine.” He pulls you up, his devil bringer finds your lower back, claws digging into the fabric of your shirt as his lips meet yours, spit glossed and tasting of himself. Who cares? He doesn’t. You moan against his mouth, hooking a leg against his waist he doesn’t grab, rolling your hips against his cock, trying to coax it back to life.

But. Nero wasn’t willing to let sleeping dogs lie. He’s pulling away faster than you’d like. Leaving you dumbfounded. The hell? He had his fun, where was yours?

“What’re you doing?” You blink. What did it look like he was doing?

“You should probably talk to Nico.” He shrugged, tucking himself back in and turning, stalking out the alleyway like nothing had happened. 

“Bet she’ll give you good advice.”

You scrambled behind him. “Nero!”

Your eyes flicked down to his Devil Bringer. The thing was glowing, the pulses timed with the cadence you registered as annoyance. No fucking way. You basically just apologized!

“Gonna work on the van, Just wait for me back home.” He calls over his shoulder, his eyes flick down to your thighs, still tightly pressed together. The bastard grins before ducking into the garage. 

“What?!”