#nelo angelo

corrupted family

Vergil! And... Vergil? And Vergil again??? I love all versions of Vergil.

THE Doomed Brothers TO ME

I was thinking bout Nelo Angelo and DMC1 when I was flashbanged with the image of Repin’s “Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan”.

Vergil x wife!reader

Masterlist

You’d known Dante for years.

After Nero, your friend was more than enthusiastic to dawn the title ‘uncle D’, with you cursing the infant for being a carbon copy of his father. A man that had promptly ditched his new bride soon after the wedding. It was the classic excuse, end of the world, a two minute job. Only to be flung into another realm for two years. The last couple of months he had been drifting in and out of your lives, hovering, living with Dante temporarily. 

Stopping by every Friday for movie night, the pizza and dancing never ending just because of this post-pregnacy bod. Plus Nero loved it, he was a particularly robust toddler so Dante was comfortable using him as a performance prop. And yet, you were unable to shake the feeling someone was burning a hole into the back of your head with their eyes. 

Vergil and yourself still hadn’t had ‘the talk’ so to speak, acknowledging his absence, he thought that conversation already ended when you buried his face through the earth’s crust. You’d not forgiven him just yet, and took every opportunity to remind him as much.

Dante had tried to microwave a tin of soup.

There is no more microwave.

But, there was a happy messy baby practically lathered in his dinner. Nero was currently suspended in air by his father, held out at arms length, the man did not try to hide the discomfort. “Woman, hold your offspring.” You smiled, wiping the leftover tomato off the walls, “Husband, take our son and go bother Dante.” The man huffs, spawn squirming in his grasp, small fists tugging at his sleeves to bring his father closer. Regardless of how distant Vergil may seem, there was a subtle smile being smothered on the corner of his lips at the sound of his son's soft cooing. 

“My brother does nothing meaningful that he can be bothered from.”

“And yet I can. Go.”

Dirtied boots rested heavily on the small coffee table, pizza boxes scattered all round, and at the centre of this mess was Dante. He was grinning ear to ear, head hanging off the back of the couch, “She kick you out of the kitchen too?” Vergil offloads Nero and his brother gratefully accepts the drooling offering, bouncing his knee idly to keep the pocket sized devil entertained. “You don’t have a kitchen Dante, you have a fridge.” Your husband kept his eyes on the boy, fear prickling in his chest at the thought of him falling or the ceiling collapsing, or spontaneous combustion. 

The usual paternal anxiety. 

“Oh yeah? How did we have lasagne last night then?”