#bottom vergil

since my lovely wife @dontcallpanic has tagged me in a great deal of WIP related challanges and i've been slacking on writing for a while (mood ain't of the highest as of now), i decided to post a big piece of something that I just published and another piece of another WIP that I haven't finished yet. I know neither have anything to do with what you originally tagged me in, but i think this might be a good way for me to get back on track and to also not leave you hanging for so long (forgive me!)

First snippet (completed work)

The sounds and the agony displayed on his face twisted something primal in you, a deep rooted need to tend to your lover and shield him from harm; it broke your heart every time you were woken up by his nightly terrors, but this time it hit you differently. 

“Wake up, my love.” Gently, you pressed him more into your body. “It’s all over once you open your eyes, you're safe.” His fingers flexed where they rested on your lower back, but they slowly eased with your voice. Vergil instinctively pushed more against you, wanting to be closer.

“There you go, baby.” You called him back softly. “I'm waiting for you right here, I got you just like you know I always will.”

His body stopped moving in a second and in the next, wide eyes focused on your face and then turned away, brows knitting in the aftershock of his awakening. “All is good, Vergil.” Hands massaged his back in lazy circles, but his breath came in labored and heavy puffs.

You guided him through it. “Breathe with me, love. In for four, out slowly for four.” You held one of his hands over your chest. “Just like this, follow my lead.” You directed him slowly, keeping track of each inhale and exhale, hands always roaming his body; a reminder of where he was, with who.

He did as you asked slowly, almost reluctantly before you kissed his head, keeping him close. “Always safe here, remember?” You blurted out in his white locks, adding just a tiny bit more pressure on his back. “You're here with me, in our bed… in my arms.” 

It took minutes before he was back to you and more reassuring words spilling thick like honey from your lips, coaxing him out of the shock. But it worked when his body heavily laid against yours, abandoning all the pain and finding purpose in your embrace. 

You didn't even ask anything, but he talked on his own and you listened, cradling him on top of you by pulling at his leg, twisting his body with yours; his head on your chest, knees bent around your hips, hands on your shoulders. The blanket fell around his hips, the chilly air hitting you both.

“It hurt.” Was all he shared at first, body going rigid in your arms. You stroked his back, hands splayed and fingers dipping in his flesh to remind him where he truly was. 

Second snippet (WIP)

“Vergil,” his head is slow to turn towards you, “let me read to you.” 

There is a moment of contemplation, so small it carries no weight before he hums and hands you the book. You hop closer to his side, a finger finding the pace you have in mind.

His presence is a known factor near you; a heavy, warm entity so close and vigilant, his eyes tracking your movements as you start to read. 

“Father, father, where are you going

O do not walk so fast.

Speak father, speak to your little boy

Or else I shall be lost.”

A palpable tension vibrates from him, the words a burning rod passing through an already weeping heart, but you go on when his warmth comes closer, curious even now.

“The night was dark, no father was there;

The child was wet with dew,

The mire was deep, & the child did weep.

And away the vapour flew.”

Another soft hum and his thigh is being gently pressed against yours; you reward his initiative with one of your hands on his cold leather pants, a feather touch he welcomes quietly. 

Flipping through some more pages, you don't leave him hanging for longer; ever beginning has its end.

“The little boy lost in the lonely fen,

Led by the wand’ring light,

Began to cry; but God, ever nigh,

Appear’d like his father in white.”

Your eyes flicker behind you, noticing the tension seeping out of his shoulders; just the least noticeable amount, the smallest concession as your voice trays over the words, lulling his head to rest on your shoulder. 

“He kissèd the child, and by the hand led,

And to his mother brought,

Who in sorrow pale, thro’ the lonely dale,

Her little boy weeping sought.”

His eyes are closed, nostrils flaring softly and huffing your hair away; one hand moves to cradle his white locks, passing through without resistance. He hums again, the smallest hint of content as his weight sinks on top of yours.

“Come home, little boy.” You guide his head on your lap as you make space for his body to lay down. Pale diamonds look up at you, half lidded, heavy as lead; a small kiss on each eyelid is what it takes for him to accept your lead.