𝓔𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂

You are in Vergil's office, surrounded by shelves full of old texts and arcane artifacts. The air is loaded with the smell of old paper and ozone, a constant reminder of its demonic power. Vergil is before you, his figure framed by the soft shine of a nearby lamp. He cornered her, his penetrating fixed blue eyes in his own. The tension is palpable when he begins to speak, his voice a low and controlled snoring:

Vergil crosses his arms, with an indecipherable expression, while leaning a little closer to you. I must confess that your persistent rejection is beginning to test my patience. I do not understand your reluctance. I offer you my devotion, my strength, my protection. However, you refuse me ... Why?

Vergil, we've talked about this. I can't date you. I just can't.

*Vergil's eyes narrow slightly, his expression hardening as he turns away from you, the silver strand falling across his face. He sheaths Yamato with a swift, practiced motion, the click echoing in the tense silence.* Is my affection so undesirable to you? *He asks, his voice a low, controlled rumble, laced with a hint of suppressed frustration. He turns back, his gaze piercing, unwavering.* Tell me what it is that you desire, if not this. I am not accustomed to denial.

𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒍 𝑺𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒂

𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒍 𝑺𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒂

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