#quickwrite

shoto’s abrupt and blunt manner of speaking still catches you off guard once in a while, and you practically spit out the drink he’d ordered for you before picking you up all over the dashboard of his nice (and most importantly, spotless) car. keeping it in, you then turn to him to catch his eyes not even off the road, and you get the sense he’s neither angry nor confessing, but there’s something else he’d like to discuss.

“um… were they used?”

“no idea. i dodged.”

you chuckle, taking another draw of your iced beverage.

“insane reflexes from our very best hero, of course.”

this does crack a smile and a glance from him.

“it did get me thinking though…” he adds, gripping the wheel gently.

“about what?”

he looks at you again, eyes pensive for a moment then quickly turning back to the road, his voice softening low.

“i want to buy you lingerie.”

your eyes flutter quickly, then your face warms.

“that’s the first thing you thought of after that happens?!”

of all the things that can be whispered in an intimate moment, when your gazes are still fixed to each other like the draw of two magnets, this probably isn't the one that should have come to vergil first, but you remain still. waiting. you've learned by now that loving vergil is an ordeal of patience, of slowing yourself to anger, doubt or fear, of learning to listen before running in the opposite direction.

vergil's hand still cups the side of your cheek tenderly. the ghost of his lips still haunts the skin of your face and neck. you wait for a moment, and a small smile on his features.

"i mean my mother. eva." it's said before you can ask, as if he could see the gears you've put to a physical stop to turning in your head.

your eyes flutter.

"why would i-"

"i'm only saying it because you don't look like her, but you still manage to remind me of her."

he lets out a chuckle that isn't humorless but is rather wistful, and his hand drops from your face, but you catch it on its way down, squeezing. still there. always.

"how so?"

the passionate kiss you've just shared in one of fortuna's alleyways is suddenly an afterthought as the two of you step over a few fallen demonic corpses and start your path back to your lodgings for the night. vergil's grip readjusts so that he's holding yours, rather than you holding his - so stubborn even down to minutiae.

it's that detailed spirit you find you like so much about him, however.

"if you're afraid, you don't always show it."

your eyes furrow, and vergil notices. "you can't possibly take offense to that," he starts.

"not offended, but... i'm not that brave."

vergil doesn't pause a stride.

"well, you don't fear me when you should."

"what's there to fear?"

vergil about a year ago would make you experience fear, just on a whim, just to prove something to himself. but today's vergil, your vergil, laughs once, a little too loudly, then stands still before presses a kiss to your forehead.

"that's what i mean."

you look at him quizzically for a moment, but then you see it, a trace of black ichor that blends into the locks of his white hair -

demon blood, not so different from that which runs in his veins. blood he spilled so comfortably it was an afterthought.

and yet your very human blood always stays cool, fearless in the wake of those icy blue eyes, and that too smooth, alabaster-white skin.

perhaps in this, you start to understand what he means.

sparda may have been many things to eva, but he never scared her.

just a little blurb i wrote a while ago. posted on my ao3 

He is sixteen.

The events of years prior had sometimes left him pondering if he’d even have the capability of continuing forth in the stages of life. But, his fingers brushed his chin, and very faintly were hints of stubble- a clear sign of aging. With this information, one may argue that this ultimately concludes him as the youngest Hargreeve sibling, and with that, any knowledge of the fact that he had once been an elderly man would be thrown out the window- labeled unimportant and a stigma of the past. The past.