A Necessity

A Necessity

Vergil Sparda x Reader

summary: an unbearably human gesture to show that he wished you well. Prequel

warnings & contents: fluff with tEnSiOn (no other way to write it); Vergil is vergiling; flower gifting (with Vergil, definitely a warning); could be age gap, could be none; the reader could be any gender; no mentions of y/n

a/n: am having way too much fun writing for this man. As always, proceed at your own risk. Minors DNI! Masterlist xoxo

soundtrack: now that we’re alone — the people’s thieves

***

Whatever he was doing in that moment, it was not necessary. And anything unnecessary felt unnatural to him. After all, necessity had been at the core of his actions for far too long; it was ingrained into his very being for decades. Since he had become lost, since his childhood he pursued no desires—only needs. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have commanded the impressive power he wielded now. In his opinion, desires existed only to weaken human beings, and neither weakness nor humanity was something Vergil could afford to embrace—or truly wished to, given the circumstances. After all, greatness demanded sacrifice.

Then why, despite being unnecessary, did those visits to you—both promised and unspoken—start to feel so natural lately? He had far more important things to focus on than indulging his own curiosity while standing at your doorstep. He had always excelled at managing his priorities. So how could you, his poisonous desire, his deadly want, have become one? How did it come to be that you transformed into a need? A necessity.

In his world, necessities were meant to make him stronger—while you were meant to be his forbidden weakness. Now, in his world, you were a walking and talking contradiction. Uninvited. Yet, welcomed. Impossible. Yet, inherently natural.

“Vergil.”

You opened the door just moments after he knocked. Had you been waiting for him? Impossible. Yet, it might have felt natural for you. He was only beginning to realise that you might have foolishly waited for him like this many times before. At the thought of it, he felt nothing—at least, that’s what he wanted to believe in. Feeling anything else would’ve been unnatural. Dangerous. Forbidden.

In the meanwhile, you stared at him. You couldn't believe it, and both your facial expression and tone of your voice conveyed that clearly, unmistakably.

He wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad one.

“What is this?”

His gaze dropped to the object in his hand. Pale violet flowers, brought into a small bouquet, were cascading down his palm.

“Wisteria.”

“Why?”

He blinked at your question, his shoulders tightened. A wave of frustration washing over him. Why had he even bothered? He felt like an idiot, and he should’ve seen this coming. This was consequential, after all. He had taken the foolish advice of his equally foolish brother—and somehow acted on it. He should have known better.

You noticed his discomfort and shook your head gently. With his silent permission, you took the bouquet from his hands, admiring its simple beauty. He watched you with a hint of puzzlement in his furrowed brow.

“I’m sorry. That came out wrong,” you acknowledged softly. Naturally, you needed no explanation for why he brought you flowers. It was an unexpected gesture on his part, but common enough—though among humans. “Why wisteria?”

The puzzlement on his face shifted to surprise, and he seemed genuinely pleased. He hadn’t expected you to be this thoughtful.

“It represents good luck,” he replied, his eyes locked on you. “As well as long life and prosperity. I thought these would never hurt.”

He also chose wisteria because the very thought of bringing you something as vulgar as roses—like Dante suggested—was threatening to give him a heart attack. But he also wanted you to know that he wished you well, despite his chaotic presence in your life.

You hummed in response. “I see,” a smile tugged at your lips. “Thank you.”

He nodded, awkwardly lingering at the doorstep.

“May I come in?”

“Sure.”

You stepped aside, allowing him to slip into the apartment. He set Yamato down, leaning the sword in its sheath against the wall as casually as someone might drop a set of keys onto a table upon arriving home. Then he knelt to unbuckle the straps, removing the protective leather piece from his shin, and only after did he take off his shoes.

When he stood up from his knees, you had already placed the wisteria in a delicate vase and set it on the bureau in the hallway.

And now, you stood directly in front of him.

“Why?” you asked again, your voice quieter this time.

This time he could sense what was on your mind. Why had he returned?

“Because I promised,” he replied calmly, thinking it was obvious. He’d been many things, both good and bad, but he wouldn’t break this promise.

“You didn’t have to,” you insisted. He took a deep, steadying breath.

“I didn’t,” he admitted. As he had thought before, this wasn’t necessary. “But I wanted to,” he added.

Your eyes widened, your limbs froze, and your heart stuttered.

“I needed to,” he concluded at last, his eyes never leaving yours. His wants and needs had now intertwined, leaving him with a growing headache and a fearful pit in his stomach. Yet there were no regrets; he had enough of those over the past couple of decades.

You said nothing at first, the weight of his confession sinking in. At your silence, he thought of the worst, as he often did, so he muttered. “But if you don’t want me, I’d understand.”

You thought about it, then stepped right into him, encroaching on his cherished personal space as your arms wrapped around his waist. Caught off guard, he faltered under your affectionate touch.

This wasn’t supposed to feel right. Instead, it felt necessary. After a moment of hesitation, his hand settled on your back, pulling you closer.

“You thought,” you scoffed gently, a hint of approval in your voice.