TheDevil'sDen

And your intended isn’t exactly showing any signs of changing courses anytime soon, when Vergil gets that furrowed brow, you know he’s enthralled. 

You sigh, a long drawn out thing that screams ‘pay attention to me’, the only complaint you have is when Vergil reads anything other than poetry, he gets lost in it. For the past hour there’s been no; 

‘This section, would you like to hear me recite it?’ 

‘Would you be willing to indulge me? I believe…’ 

‘Have you ever read anything like this? No? You’ve missed out then, if you would allow me to—’ 

And very rarely; 

‘…Do you believe we’re like the lovers in this passage?’ 

Instead all he’s been doing is ignoring your slighted glare. His only response, the rustle of a page turning and a slight shift to accommodate you further. You hate him. You adore him. Obsession is too light a word to describe what you feel for Vergil.

“Vergil.” 

Nothing. You still stare up at him, plastered on your face is an expression that might rival that of a fat pudgy cat expecting another treat from its owner. However, even the most subservient of owners must put their foot down eventually, Vergil is still deciding if today is that day. 

You’re confident it isn’t. You can wear his walls down. 

You try again. “Vergil.” 

Blank. But his lips twitched. That’s one stone tumbling off the ramparts. 

“Verge.” 

That gets him. It annoys him. But it gets him to react and that’s a win in your book.

You suck your lips in as if it doesn’t further enunciate your smile when you see one pale blue eye slide down to meet yours, what little he has of a brow dips down to furrow.

You’re beaming at him, and if he’s as smart of a man as he claims to be, then he knows what you’re thinking of doing.

“What.” He says it flatly and you wonder what it is you even see in him. Your lover is frigid.

You’re silent for a moment, cataloguing your beloved's face as if it’s the first time you’re seeing him and not the thousandths. 

Vergil’s eyes are deep-setted and gorgeous, his brows are thin and as previously stated, all but nonexistent unless the light shines on them just so, his lips are plush and kissable, pouty when he sleeps, thin and tucked away when his brother annoys him or his son says something particularly Dante-like. 

But, his pupils dilate just so when he stares down at you and you wonder if Vergil does the same thing you do when he looks down at you like this, if he adores your dopey smile as much as you adore his cold stare. 

Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, and you confirm your theory to be true when he presses it further against your palm. He’s cold to the touch, yet late at night you know him to be a pillar of warmth, when the sun's up and you're away from the privacy of your shared bedroom with it's blankets and pillows and lockable doors; you just have to coax it out of him. 

“I love you.” You murmur, low and honeyed. Vergil exhales as if you’ve annoyed him, but his own fingers betray him. They rub back and forth through your hair and against your scalp, his glare doesn’t soften, but the set of his jaw does.

“You’re peculiar.” Vergil isn’t one to talk.

“How?” You know what he’ll say, and you regret giving him the opening. 

“You are well aware of who I am, what I've done,” Vergil starts and you nearly roll your eyes.

Here he goes again, droning on about how you deserve better, someone normal. A man who could age with you and die with you. Someone who hasn’t tried to end humanity twice. Someone you can bring home to your parents. 

You’d love to mimic his droll flat tone and spout the words you’ve come to memorize, intone them just so ; ‘I cannot give you the softness you deserve, I can only give you myself as I am—’, but last time you did so, he all but mauled you in bed as pay back, sunk his teeth deep until his canines met, pinched muscle between them rather ruthlessly and left marks you swore you saw Dante laughing at and Nero cringing at-- 

Wait. 

Your mind snags on that particular memory, you claw for it to come back as it fades. Vergil’s lips closed around your shoulder, his teeth drawing blood, his grunts bordering into growls, his hips smacking against yours…

A repeat isn’t such a bad idea, actually. A refresher. 

It’s actually probably really needed just so you never think of doing it again, actually. 

But. 

Vergil pulls you from your thoughts before the idea could fully take root. He knows that distant scheming look, a nudge brings you back to the surface.

“…and yet you’re still here expectant.” 

You snort. Of course you’re still here. You know Vergil’s game by now. He’ll point out his flaws like an insecure teenager fishing for compliments, and when he gets said compliments (in this case, reassurance) he’ll go quiet and silently preen. 

He’s predictable here only because this is the only battleground where you have the upper hand. What Vergil lacks in experience when it comes to navigating romance, you have in spades. He probably thinks he's being subtle using this tactic, he's as loud as a siren.

You shrug. “I’m here because I love you.”

Vergil’s eyes narrow. Everything fell on deaf ears again, but those three little words get a ‘hmmph’ from him. Satisfactory. You hadn’t said it much all morning and he was beginning to worry. 

Love is, again, a light word to use. It didn’t matter if you didn’t hear his whole spiel, surely he’s found some new flaw to tack on, not that it would matter. 

Sparda himself couldn’t pry you away from his son. 

Truth be told, Vergil doesn’t understand what exactly it is you see in him, he’s waiting every single day for the other shoe to drop, after life like he’s had, nothing could be this easy without it being a set up. But that day has yet to come, and you’re keen to keep it like that. 

That settles that. Vergil’s content to set his book aside and pay you the attention you’re due. It closes with a loud thump and once it's on the end table, his arms wrap around your upper half gently. His chin rests atop your head, you smell nice. Like him, as you should, given he’d washed your hair with his soap earlier.

Vergil tucks your face further against him. If you keep peering up like that at him, he might fold and give in to whatever wicked whim you’re wishing for. (There isn’t much resistance to begin with, Devil May Cry is blessedly empty, the fact you left the shower at all and unscathed is a miracle.)

For now, however, you’re both more than happy to soak in each other’s presence, content to be within the others arms. The sun streams in from the window, melts away your worries on mornings like these, warms your back just enough to coax a very long sigh from you and everything falls into place. 

No stress, no noise, just you and Vergil. 

At least until Dante comes barreling in.

A new lighthouse had been constructed upon the rocky outcropping.

Of course Dorn had noticed it, he’d also been the one to approve its construction. His pelt hung heavy and warm around his broad shoulders, his appearance unassuming as he waited for the first keeper to arrive. He’d busied himself with clearing the path of seaweed and rubbish that’d washed onto it, the seas churning in the long nights.

The old truck rumbled up the road, grinding rocks under its tires. A passenger sat in the second seat, bouncing gently from the rough road. Their mouth moved as they spoke to the driver, a familiar face to Dorn. Alexis was a good companion and judge of character, he certainly didn’t mind carting around the new folks and making deliveries they needed.

The truck ground to a stop and the creaky doors swung open, the hinges old and resistant. He could see Alexis leaning over to help through the hazy glass, a laugh shaking his shoulders. It was almost a shame he seemed unable to settle down. He’d be a good father.

They stepped out, shouldering a fat backpack. Alexis reached out to take their heavy suitcases from the bed of the truck, shaking his head with a smile when they tried to take one from him. Dorn could hear the laugh when he simply tightened his grip, refusing them to take even the small ones held by his hooked fingers.

He adjusted the warm pelt around his shoulders as a cold wind stabbed his cheeks. He cleared his throat as they approached, looking down at them. “Welcome to Inwit.”

They smiled up at him. “Thank you. Are you the owner?”

He shook his head. “I helped design and build the lighthouse you’ll be living in. Come, I’ll show you around.”

They nodded, following him. They looked nothing like the usual type of keeper, still bright eyed and youthful. Hopefully, they could manage the solitude. They’d signed up for the job, they ought to be able to handle it. It’d be foolish to not expect long hours in the dark, at least.

He showed them the run of their new abode, introducing them to the care and keeping duties they’d have. It was admittedly comfortable and roomy, more than enough space for one person. He may have indulged in the carving of some of the decor too much, but they traced their fingers along them with a curious smile as he led them up and down the stairs.

“Seals are abundant here, as well. The townsfolk have long learned to give them space and privacy,” he stated, resting his hands on the railing.

They showed some hesitation, being at the top like this, but hadn’t bowed back yet. They lingered close to the wall, but looked out, squinting as though to look for the plump animals. “Privacy? Are they shy?”

The corners of his lips twitched as their small joke. “You could say so. They tend to keep their distance from strangers, but they’re friendly.”

They smiled, nodding. “I understand. Well, I don’t plan on going fishing often, so I shouldn’t see much of them.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Not keen on fishing?”

They held up their hands, bowing their head in defeat. “I’m a terrible swimmer, actually. But, keeping a lighthouse shouldn’t require a whole lot of that, should it?”

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “No, it shouldn’t. If ever you need something in the late night, there is a lantern here.” He reached out, motioning to the gently swaying lantern, the glass tinted. “Light it and I or Alexis are likely to come to your aid. If there’s an emergency or a mere need for supplies, we can bring them to you.”

They looked at the swaying lantern and the firm hook used to pull it back. “Are you sure you’ll see it?”

He nodded, firm. “Of course. It may seem… old-fashioned, but it is quite reliable.”

They just nodded, accepting it. “I see. Well, I think I understand the run of the place well enough. Thank you for this.”

He recognized the deep reflection of gratitude. Something had driven them to coming here and while he wasn’t one to pry, he was curious all the same. “It is quite safe here,” he thought to add. “Isolated, quiet, peaceful.”

They smiled, this time tense and unsure. “Thank you.” Their voice was soft, almost unheard in the whipping winds.

Dorn was content to not see them again for some time, allowing them to settle into their new home. They slept erratically and he saw the inside lights turn on and off at odd hours, even from his position out at sea. He’d see them step outside with a steaming mug and stare out, his sharp vision tracking them with ease.

Something had scared them into coming out here, though he was unsure what. It wasn’t his place to ask, though the curiosity nibbled at him. People like them didn’t often choose to work in such a cold, isolated place.

He stretched out his limbs, fat tail laying across the warm rock, warmed by the breaks in the heavy clouds. A storm was brewing, a deep one that had the local fish stirring and the younger selkies fleeing after them for safety. He and he alone would stay, no matter the weather.

He watched the lighthouse, settling with his chin on his crossed arms. They were asleep, he knew from the lack of movement. If they were awake, they’d be making warm tea, perhaps writing or reading, running through their routine of checking on the tower. They were smart and consistent in their routines, making them quite easy to keep track of.

A small smile passed his face when they finally awoke, lights turning on and curtains opening. His sharp ears could almost hear the static spurt of the radio turning on, the weather report warning them. He saw them pass by a window, steam rising as they prepared their warm water.

They rarely entered town and he would be lacking to not notice they tended to buy in bulk. They weren’t shy, but wary, rather. Always looking over their shoulder, even when Alexis joined them, and there was nearly no safer place to be. Something had driven them to the cold of Inwit.

The answer came when the storm did, the light upon the tower spinning slowly and steadily despite the ravaging storm. He could see them moving around inside, stopping to peer out the battered windows. The rain was as relentless as the surging foam of the sea, preventing them from seeing much of anything.

He was unbothered by the raging storm, hunkered in place as the sea raging around him. Were they scared? He couldn’t quite see from this distance, but they passed by the windows more often than usual, betraying a level of their anxiety to even him. He knew his words alone weren’t enough to comfort them.

There was a newcomer in town, the last boat in until the storm passed. A big man, large and threatening. Dorn recognized the hardness in his knuckles, the hate in his eyes. He asked for them by name and none would give it, not even kind Alexis was so blind to see it.

Rocks ground under his boots as he stalked up the path to the lighthouse and Dorn was tempted to interfere. He was no stormcaller, but he outsized him twice over in his full form. It would be easy to sink his claws into his skin and keep them safe by force and brutality alone.

He wasn’t a brutal man and it stayed his hand, forcing him to sit and wait as the man banged on the door. He’d never seen the keeper raise a hand of violence nor bring a weapon to protect themselves with. They’d relied on isolation alone to protect them.

A wave crashed against the peninsula the lighthouse sat upon and the man disappeared from sight as he approached the door. Dorn let the next wave take his body, disappearing under the darkness and the foam. He needed to be closer, now.

The lighthouse keeper struggled as the man dragged them out, hitting and dragging their heels. “Let me go! Now!”

Their ex continued to drag them, forcing them out of the safety and warmth of their tower. “You’re coming back with me! It won’t happen again! I promise!”

They’d heard it before a million times. It wouldn’t happen again, he said. He wouldn’t hit them again. Every time, he’d broken that promise. It always started with the counter, the wall, the door, but it always went back to them.

The unforgivingly cold spray of the ocean landed on their cheeks, raging on both sides. Every step was a fight and they refused to give him anything more than a willing inch. They hit and clawed at his hand with blunt nails, yelling over the howling winds.

All it took was one strong wave, a powerful crash to send them both tumbling. The rocks were just as cruel, biting into the skin of their palms and knees as they rolled. They scrambled for a suitable grasp and even their ex shouted in fear as waves continued to slam against them.

Another impossibly rough wave grabbed them both and dragged them under. They flailed, squeezing their eyes shut and holding their breath as much as they could. Their legs kicked as they tried to find purchase against something, anything, arms flailing in barely a recreation of swimming.

It wouldn’t have mattered if they knew how to swim or not in this case, flailing their limbs as they were tumbled with the rough drag and shoving of the waves. Their leg caught a rough rock, cutting deep, and their mouth opened in a regrettable cry of pain.

Their back hit another rock and any remaining air in their lungs was forced out of their body, bubbles rising from their open mouth. They tried to find their way up, choking as the only thing they managed was sucking in more water. It filled their lungs and they felt a cold darkness clawing at their body, edging into their vision.

It was strange, how the deeper they were dragged, the calmer the waters were. Their body swayed, arms reached upward, the light spinning gently, unaware of how its keeper was drowning. It shone over them, a silent witness.

A large form of white cut through the darkness, illuminaed by the light. Strong, warm arms wrapped around their body and they were lifted. Their head bowed back, body limp, as unaware as their light of their rescuer.

When they awoke, the storm had calmed and warmth surrounded them. Their fingers curled, brushing through soft fur and they rolled onto their side, coughing. They distantly recognized the bucket on the floor and spit out the remaining unwanted water, hacking and wheezing through every mouthful.

A warm hand found their back and they breathed heavily, resting their head on the cushion. “Am I…”

Dorn rumbled a low chuckle. “Alive, yes. The eye of the storm is over us now, the storm will continue.”

They nodded, looking up at him with a furrowed brow. “I saw… something.”