#heh...

[yo-ri-su-ki]

Hey… me again….

Do NOT flame me— I’ve literally never played the games before, so think of this as an au.

Arranged marriage au with Vergil? We fell first, he fell harder? You do NOT have to write this one immediately/if you don’t want to because I’m SURE you already have a lot on your plate, but I read a Mydei one with this trope and I’m OBSESSED.

LOVE YOUR WORK!!!!

An: Hnnnhggg Mydeii uhhhhhh oofmmm it's all over the screesewnn... THIS ONES LONG BUCKLE UP, ALSO SOME OF IT IS BASED OFF ONE OF MY VERGIL FICS WHERE THE READER NEARLY DIES.

Bound by blades and vows

The air in Fortuna was chilled with the scent of steel and roses, the perfume of both blood and duty. You had grown up hearing tales of the infamous Sparda bloodline—how they were gods among men, warriors forged in the fires of hell, half-demons who walked among humans with disdain in their hearts and power in their hands.

You never expected to marry one.

Especially not Vergil Sparda.

Your father, a high-ranking diplomat with a penchant for forging peace through paperwork, had somehow orchestrated an alliance between your family and the house of Sparda. After the recent skirmishes between human factions and demonic forces, a marriage between a powerful neutral family and the son of Sparda was deemed “strategic.”

You had expected someone cold, arrogant, cruel.

And you were partially right.

Vergil was a man of few words. Sharp as his katana. Eyes like frozen fire. He didn’t smile. He didn’t talk much. During your engagement ceremony, he didn’t so much as look at you, save for the brief moment when your fingers brushed during the exchange of ceremonial vows. Even then, his hand felt more like a weapon than a comfort.

You were captivated anyway.

Not by his power—though that was undeniable—but by the broken silence that surrounded him. The loneliness cloaked in stoicism. You wanted to understand the man behind the blade. The son of a legend who had carved his own cruel path.

He didn't even remember your name the first week.

---

Weeks Later — The Fortress Estate

Married life with Vergil was… quiet. Awkward. You had separate rooms. He trained before dawn and returned well past dusk. His only words to you were logistical, sometimes edged with condescension.

But you saw more than he wanted to show.

Like how he always left his coat hanging in the hall closet so it wouldn’t track mud into your side of the estate. Or how your favorite tea blend always appeared in the kitchen, perfectly restocked. Or the single time he had caught you crying in the garden—silent tears over your loneliness—and instead of offering comfort, he had simply left a single white camellia on your pillow that night.

Vergil did not understand love.

But he was learning you.

And you were already hopelessly falling for him.

---

Three Months Later — A Shift

One evening, after a particularly exhausting council meeting where you had defended Vergil’s decision to withhold demonic intervention in a human war, you returned to your chambers only to find him waiting.

“Why?” he asked, leaning against the window. Moonlight gilded his silver hair, his arms crossed in that ever-defensive way.

You blinked. “Why what?”

“Why defend me?”

You swallowed. “Because you were right. And because you're my husband.”

His gaze narrowed. “That is an obligation. Not affection.”

“I care for you, Vergil,” you admitted, heart pounding. “Even if you don’t care back.”

Silence. So thick it almost choked you.

Vergil walked past you, slowly, his boots silent against the stone. When he paused beside you, his voice was low. “You shouldn’t.”

And yet... he didn’t leave.

---

The First Crack

That same night, he stayed in your room. Not in your bed—but in the armchair by the fire. When you woke with a scream from a nightmare, you found yourself wrapped in his coat. He was gone, but the faintest scent of him lingered—cool metal, storm, and sword oil.

Your heart ached.

He was opening.

Slowly. Painfully.

But he was opening.

---

Six Months In — He Falls

The moment Vergil realized he loved you came like a blade through the heart.

You were nearly killed.

A mission to escort a high priestess to a neutral territory had turned into an ambush. You had fought, of course—you weren’t defenseless. But there were too many. Demonic mercenaries. Blood-magic blades. Poison-laced arrows.

Vergil arrived in a storm of judgment, his Yamato slicing through the air with brutal precision. But when he saw your body crumpled, your blood soaking into the snow, something snapped.

He destroyed them all.

Not with his sword.

With his fury.

When you opened your eyes three days later, he was at your side, hand clasping yours so tightly it nearly hurt.

“You came…” you rasped.

“I should never have let you go alone,” he whispered, voice raw. “I thought… I thought I had more time.”

“For what?” you whispered.

“To love you properly.”

---

And So, He Loved You

It wasn’t immediate. It wasn’t easy.

But from that moment on, Vergil was different.

He started training you personally—“so I never lose you again.” He began sitting beside you at dinner, eating in silence but present. He touched you more often—not with passion, at first, but with presence. A hand at your back. A gentle brush of your fingers when handing you a scroll. His sword callused hand brushing your cheek one evening as you studied near the fire.

And one night, as you watched the stars together on the balcony, he finally whispered, “You said you cared for me even if I didn’t care back.”

You nodded, heart in your throat.

“I care now,” he murmured. “More than I should. More than I know how to.”

He turned to face you.

“But if you’re willing to teach me, I’ll spend the rest of our days learning how to be worthy of you.”

The days after your near-death bled into weeks of quiet recovery.

Vergil stayed close. Not smothering—he never could be—but present. In the subtle ways you’d come to cherish.

He brought you tea, perfectly steeped. His fingers lingered a little longer when he adjusted your blankets. His voice, though still edged with that familiar sharpness, was softer around you now. Tinted with something that wasn’t quite affection… but not far from it.

Something fragile. Reverent.

He never said love again.

But he showed it.

With a blade sharpened each night at your bedside. With the callused touch that brushed your temple when he thought you were asleep. With the furious rage that flickered behind his eyes anytime you so much as winced in pain.

You had never felt so protected—and so afraid of how deeply you wanted him to stay.

---

Two Weeks Later – Midnight

You couldn’t sleep. Your body was healing, but your thoughts raced.

The moon cast silver light across your chambers. Outside, wind brushed against the trees like whispers. You rose, quietly, wrapping yourself in a robe, and stepped into the hall.

He was there.

Vergil always trained at midnight now, Yamato dancing under starlight in the open courtyard. But tonight, his blade was still. He stood staring into the sky, hair glinting, expression unreadable.

“You should be resting,” he said without turning.

“I wanted to see you,” you admitted.

He turned then, and for once, he didn’t look away.

There was something in his eyes—hunger, yes, but not the kind born of lust. It was yearning. Quiet. Terrifying. Tender.

“I thought I had time,” he murmured, stepping closer. “To keep you at a distance. To avoid the mess of human emotion.”

He stopped a breath away.

“But when you fell, I realized… there is no version of this world where I survive losing you.”

Your heart thundered. “Vergil—”

“Don’t speak,” he whispered, stepping even closer. “Please. Not yet.”

He cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing the soft skin under your eye. You leaned into him, trembling.

When his lips finally met yours, it was not like fire.

It was silk.

Soft. Lingering. Terrified.

As if he was afraid the world would end if he pressed too hard.

And maybe it would.

---

Aftermath

He didn’t say anything when he pulled away. Just rested his forehead against yours, breathing raggedly, like that single kiss had stolen the fight from his lungs.

You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the tremble beneath his coat.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice a vow.

His eyes fluttered shut.

“I am not worthy of that,” he whispered.

“But I will be.”

It began, like most arguments, with something small.

You were preparing for a diplomatic visit from a neutral kingdom—one that had long distrusted the Sparda lineage. You offered to attend alone, hoping to ease their tensions without the looming presence of Yamato.

Vergil refused.

“I will accompany you,” he said flatly, standing near the hearth, his arms crossed. “I do not trust them. Nor do I trust you to keep yourself alive without oversight.”

The words cut.

“Oversight?” you repeated, your voice rising. “I’m not some fragile doll you have to chaperone, Vergil. I’ve led more negotiations than you’ve sat through in your entire—!”

“And nearly died during one,” he snapped, stepping forward. “Do you expect me to forget that?”

You recoiled.

“That wasn’t my fault. And this—this isn’t about my skills. This is about your fear.”

His silence was all the confirmation you needed.

“You don’t trust me,” you whispered. “Not really.”

Vergil’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t deny it.

You turned away. Hurt blooming in your chest like a fresh bruise. “I thought we were becoming partners. Equals.”

“We are not equals,” he said coldly. “You are mortal. Human. You feel everything too deeply, too quickly. That makes you weak.”

The air left your lungs.

For the first time, you walked out and left him standing there.

---

Hours Later – The Garden

The moonlight made the roses seem silver. You sat on the cold bench near the back of the garden—alone, angry, aching. The wind tugged at your robe, and somewhere deep down, you hated how much his words still held power over you.

“I do not believe what I said,” came a voice from the shadows.

You didn’t look up.

“I said it to push you away. To keep you where it was safe. For me.”

You finally met his gaze. He looked… wrecked. His coat hung loose. His hair was wind-tousled. But it was his eyes that struck you most.

Soft. Lost. Bleeding.

“I have fought demons that threatened the world,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “I have slain gods and torn realms. None of it frightened me like the thought of losing you again.”

Silence.

Vergil slowly lowered himself to his knees before you—not as a warrior, but as a man.

“I do not know how to be soft,” he whispered. “I do not know how to love like a human does. My father left. My mother died. My brother—” He broke off, jaw clenched. “Everything I loved was taken or broken. So I learned not to need.”

He looked up at you.

“Then you came. And now all I do is need.”

Your heart cracked wide open.

You slid off the bench, kneeling before him, hands gently cupping his face.

“I don’t need perfection,” you whispered. “I just need you. Scars and all.”

Vergil leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours once more. It had become his way of seeking closeness when words failed him.

When he kissed you again, it was deeper this time. Desperate. Less afraid. His fingers curled into the fabric of your robe like he was anchoring himself in you.

You kissed him back with everything you had.

Because he wasn’t just yours now.

He had fallen.

And he had fallen harder.

Made by @yo-ri-su-ki, do not copy or translate my work!! Likes and reblogs appreciated!! Also if you wanna see more like this consider following!!!

An: iM SORRY I COULDN'T REACH IT SOONER THIS WAS AN AMAZING IDEAAA IM SICK SO IT TAKES A WHILE TO WRITE!!

[sentrysapper]

[tonicitaa]

I will never be javert levels of obsessed with him...sigh

[darkchocoswife]

matchies :3

[mighty-mations]

more freaking guy i love to draw him YAY

bonus

[supersillyycat]

Little moonflower dump because I love em a lot n I think they're neat...

yes dandy's world is my current very strong obsession

But I will return with south park soon..just wait...

Alsooo second is just valentine themed because I think it's silly

And you can tell I'm bad at color palettes

OH AND I ACTUALLY HAVE A EPIC SIGMA ART FOR VALENTINE'S DAY!!!! Heh.... you won't believe it

[someonestolemymacandcheese]

ALEHEATHER YURI!!!!!

[neonmetro]

HAPPY WISDOM SAGA RELEASE

[thenumberoneeejunofan]

Just your reminder none of the group had pictures together so after time Thomas will eventually forget what his dead bfs face looks like ❤️

[archerdepartures116]

if you do not actually post lqg BUSSING IT DOWN once you reach that 10k

i will find a way to haunt you

ANYWAYS YOURE AN AMAZING PERSON PLEASE KEEP FEEDING US WITH CONTENT I LOVE YOU SO MUCH<3<3<3<33

Chat I thought bussing it down meant like bussing it down on the dance floor while serving cunt but urban dictionary tells me otherwise

I may have made a mistake 😭

ANYHOW ANON TYSMM WHAHAHA😭

[yo-ri-su-ki]

The blade can also tremble

Jealous!Vergil Sparda x shy reader

An: here's your first story, thanks for 250 likes!!

The sky outside was the color of bruised lilac, heavy with rainclouds. It had been raining all day—soft, persistent, and cold. Water trickled in slow streams along the stone pathways of the ruined fortress, dripping through the cracks in the old roof and pooling near broken columns. The fire in the hearth crackled quietly, offering the only source of light and warmth in the vast room.

You sat curled up in an armchair far too large for you, legs tucked under your body, a worn blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cocoon. A book lay open in your lap, though you hadn’t turned the page in what felt like an hour. Your hands were too busy clinging to the warm mug of tea Vergil had left for you earlier without a word.

He was always like that—silent, composed, distant. A shadow with a sword and eyes like sharpened ice.

But he had brought you here. He had protected you from the chaos, the demons, the bleeding sky. And while he never said why, you had stayed.

Across the room, Vergil stood by the broken window, watching the rain. The faint wind tugged at his coat, the dark fabric fluttering like wings around his tall frame. He was impossibly still, as though carved from stone. The only movement came from the faint rise and fall of his chest.

You glanced at him, heart skipping. The silence between you was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Just full of things unsaid.

You liked it that way, honestly. Words were hard. You were never good with them, especially around someone like him.

Vergil’s voice, low and calm, broke through the hush.

“You’re trembling.”

You startled. Not because of the words, but because he had noticed.

“I-I’m fine,” you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You gripped the mug a little tighter, heat seeping into your cold fingers.

He didn’t move from the window at first, but his gaze flicked to you, unreadable. Then, slowly, he walked across the room—his steps silent, measured. When he crouched by the hearth, you could feel the temperature shift. Not from the fire.

From him.

“I told you before,” he said, his voice as calm as ever. “You are safe here. No harm will come to you while I draw breath.”

You swallowed. It should’ve been comforting. And it was. But it wasn’t fear that made your hands shake.

“I’m not scared,” you said, softer than before. “Not of you.”

Vergil turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing with interest. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated. Every instinct screamed to retreat, to deflect, to stay quiet. But the words came anyway—fragile, halting.

“I’m just… not used to someone like you.”

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened—curious, perhaps even cautious.

“Someone like me?”

You met his gaze for a moment, the intensity of it stealing the breath from your lungs. But you managed a small nod.

“You’re… controlled. Strong. Quiet. It’s intimidating. Not in a bad way,” you added quickly, eyes darting to the fire. “Just… different.”

Vergil stood slowly, shadows licking at the hem of his coat. He said nothing at first. You wondered if you had said too much, crossed an invisible line. You always worried about that.

But instead of walking away, he moved to stand beside your chair.

“You think me intimidating,” he said, voice low. “Yet you speak the truth to my face.”

You blinked up at him. “I… don’t want to pretend.”

Something flickered across his face—a shift so subtle, you might’ve missed it if you hadn’t been looking. He turned slightly, one hand resting on the back of your chair, fingers curled loosely.

“I find… no reason for you to pretend,” he said. “Your presence does not demand masks. It is… honest. Quiet.”

You weren’t sure what to say. A part of you didn’t believe him. Another part, the smaller, braver one, clung to those words like a lifeline.

He looked down at the floor for a moment, as if lost in thought. Then:

“You remind me of stillness,” he said quietly.

Your breath caught. “Stillness?”

“Yes.” He straightened, folding his hands behind his back. “In the eye of a storm, there is a moment of calm. Silent. Untouched. That is what you are.”

Your heart thundered.

Vergil’s gaze returned to the window. “I’ve chased power my whole life. Lost myself to it. But when you are near…” His jaw clenched slightly. “There is quiet.”

You couldn’t move. Could barely think.

He turned back to you, eyes softer now—less like ice, more like mist.

“You don’t need to speak if you don’t wish to,” he said. “Your presence… is enough.”

That was what undid you. Not the poetic metaphor. Not the fact that Vergil—cold, stoic, unreachable Vergil—had just compared you to the eye of a storm.

It was that he meant it.

You looked down quickly, cheeks burning, fingers tightening around your mug. “I’m… glad,” you said, voice trembling.

He was quiet for a moment, watching you.

Then, slowly, he reached out—fingertips brushing your shoulder. Light. Barely there.

But it was deliberate.

Your breath hitched. The contact lasted a heartbeat. Maybe two.

Then he pulled away.

“I will return before nightfall,” he said, already turning to the door. “The wards will protect you in my absence.”

You nodded, still too stunned to speak.

The door creaked softly as he left, the cold air swirling in after him before it settled into stillness again.

And you sat there, tea cooling in your hands, heart still racing.

Because despite all your doubts, despite your quiet, awkward nature…

You were not just tolerated.

You were seen.

And to Vergil Sparda, that meant more than any declaration.

It meant you mattered.

The days blurred after that moment.

Vergil continued to vanish for hours at a time, leaving you behind in the forgotten fortress, guarded by invisible barriers and the echo of his words. But something had shifted between you. His glances lingered longer. His silences felt less like walls and more like invitations.

You noticed the small things first.

A second mug of tea placed beside yours without a word.

A book, carefully left on the table, written in your native language despite the region’s ruins offering only old demon-tongue scrolls.

A blanket, folded and left on the arm of your chair—not just one of the tattered ones from the storage room, but his cloak. His cloak.

You touched the soft blue fabric hesitantly, heart fluttering. It still smelled like him. Steel, rain, and something ancient. You never quite had the courage to wear it, but its presence was enough.

Vergil never asked questions, never demanded conversation. But one evening, as the rain stilled and the clouds began to part, you found him sitting—not standing—by the hearth for the first time.

A book rested in his lap, unopened. His gaze was distant, eyes reflecting firelight.

You hesitated in the doorway, unsure if you should speak.

“You always hover,” he said suddenly, voice soft. “Come closer.”

You flushed but obeyed, padding silently across the stone floor. You sat a little closer than usual. Close enough to feel the warmth of him. Not just from the fire.

Vergil didn’t look at you at first. “I find myself… restless when you’re far.”

Your heart skipped. “I don’t want to get in your way.”

“You don’t.” He turned his head, gaze cutting to yours. “You never have.”

You looked down at your hands, shy. “I don’t really know what I am to you.”

He stood slowly, as if needing to move just to think. “You were once a burden,” he said bluntly. “An inconvenience I accepted out of necessity.”

The words stung, but he wasn’t finished.

“Now,” he said, turning to face you fully, “I find myself searching for your presence the moment you’re out of sight. I notice when you don’t speak. I wait for your quiet footsteps down the hall. I listen for the sound of your breathing at night to remind myself I’m not alone.”

You looked up at him, lips parted, heart in your throat.

“I do not understand this attachment,” he said, voice tight with restraint. “It weakens me, and yet… I cannot bring myself to let go.”

You stood then, nerves buzzing, and approached him slowly.

“I never asked you to let go,” you whispered.

His breath hitched. His eyes searched yours, and for the first time, his hand reached up, hovering near your face—hesitating, as if waiting for permission.

You gave a tiny nod.

His fingers brushed your cheek.

It was such a gentle, reverent touch—like you were something sacred.

“I don’t know how to love gently,” he admitted.

You smiled faintly, heart racing. “That’s okay,” you whispered. “I’m not fragile.”

The days grew warmer. The fortress, once cold and dead, now stirred with quiet life—flowers growing through cracked stone, moss softening sharp corners, and the ever-present fire that never seemed to burn out anymore.

You noticed Vergil spent more time within the manor walls, staying close to you. He didn’t say it, of course. But you saw it in how often he stood outside the door while you read, or how he’d walk in with some half-destroyed object—an old carving, a page of poetry—and silently place it on your desk as if gifting you a piece of a forgotten world.

Then one morning, while collecting water near the ward’s edge, you met a traveler.

A human. Lost, scared, clearly out of place in the demon realm. He was kind, though—a bit loud and nervous, but friendly. He kept talking to you as you guided him back toward the safe boundaries. Asked your name. Offered his. Told jokes.

And you… you laughed.

Not much. Just a little.

But it was enough.

Vergil was standing at the edge of the courtyard when you returned, Yamato gleaming on his back, his coat fluttering gently in the breeze.

His eyes locked on the traveler. Then you.

And something shifted.

The man’s words slowed as he looked nervously between you and Vergil’s piercing stare.

“Uh, thanks for the help,” he mumbled to you before hurrying away. You turned back toward the doorway—only to find Vergil still watching you, unmoving.

You swallowed. “He was lost. I couldn’t just leave him.”

“I didn’t say you should,” Vergil replied. But his tone was too calm. Too sharp.

You stepped closer, frowning. “Are you… angry?”

His jaw clenched, just slightly. “No. But I find myself… displeased.”

You tilted your head, trying to read him. “Why?”

Vergil looked away, gaze cast toward the horizon. “Because you laughed.”

You blinked. “Is that… bad?”

“You laughed for him.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Vergil finally turned, stepping closer. His presence was magnetic—intense and overwhelming.

“He looked at you like he could touch you,” he said, voice low. “Like he had the right.”

Your breath caught. “And you don’t?”

That made him freeze.

His eyes softened. For the first time, something cracked. The mask slipped.

“I want to,” he whispered.

The admission felt heavier than any weapon. His fingers twitched at his side, unsure.

“I see the way others look at you,” he continued. “Like you’re someone to be claimed. Possessed. They don’t know what it means to deserve you. I have killed for less.”

You stepped forward, heart thudding. “And what do you see when you look at me?”

Vergil’s breath hitched. Then, in a voice raw with restraint: “Peace. And peril. A calm that undoes me.”

You reached for him. This time, you were the one to touch first—your hand gently resting over his chest.

“I don’t want anyone else,” you said softly. “Just you. Even when you’re cold. Or cruel. Or distant.”

His hand came up—slow, deliberate—and cupped your cheek.

“This… thing inside me,” he murmured. “It burns. It claws. But when I touch you…” He leaned forward, foreheads nearly touching. “It goes quiet.”

And then—finally—his lips brushed yours.

Soft. Careful. But desperate in the way he trembled.

You kissed him back, shyly at first, but the moment deepened when his arms came around you—pulling you close as if he feared you'd vanish like mist.

He kissed you like he didn’t know how, but wanted to learn. From you.

When you parted, he pressed his forehead against yours, breath shallow.

“I will never let anyone take you,” he said. “Not while I breathe. Not even from myself.”

And for the first time, you saw it.

Not just his power.

But his fear.

Of losing you.

Of loving you.

And it only made you hold him tighter.

Vergil’s gaze burned, locked on yours. “Yes, you are. And still you remain.”

You leaned forward, just enough that your forehead touched his chest.

He froze—but only for a moment.

Then, his arms came around you. Slowly. Carefully. As if he were afraid you'd disappear if he held too tightly.

You could feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek—steady, controlled… but faster than usual.

“I don’t need grand gestures,” you said softly. “Just… don’t leave me behind.”

He bent his head slightly, lips brushing the crown of your hair.

“I couldn’t,” he whispered. “Even if I wanted to.”

There was no kiss that night.

But his arms around you, the way he held you like a promise, said everything you needed to hear.

Made by @yo-ri-su-ki, do not copy or translate my work! Reposts and likes appreciated!! Also if you like this post and want to see more like this, consider following!!

an: YALL PLEASE REQUEST MORE VERGIL STUFF I FUCKING LOVE HIMMMM UGHHH

[c0zmozys]

deleted old post bc i5 was a wip and i didnt want it getting mor notes than the finished ver

[2aceofspades]

They're stupid/aff 😌✨

(:

[zorawithobsessions]

His First Death By His Son's Hands.

In my headcanons, when 007n7 first arrived he always managed to avoid other killers, but when he went face to face with c00lkidd, his son...

he didn't manage to move.

[criscrossaapplesauce]

Me when the magical explosion covers my face in a way that might be symbolic to the scar I gain, showcasing my growth as a character 😨😨😨😨

Btw I may be taking art requests.... Heh....... So if you want be to draw ur object OC or whatever today's your day !1!2!!21!!1!1!1 (do it in asks PLEASE)