Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The rain pattered softly on the roof of the Devil May Cry agency. Droplets slid down the dirty window, following the grooves of textured glass.

It was a beautiful, quiet night. For the first time in a while, the city outside was silent, drowned out by the sounds of nature. Distant peals of thunder promised people would stay home, afraid to be caught in the storm. Even demons would keep low. With no easy prey wandering around, there would be no calls to rescue someone from an underworld predator’s claws.

With his feet up on the desk, Dante leaned back in his chair, a bottle of Jack in hand. Finally—a moment of peace.

An old jukebox hummed in the corner of the main hall, its familiar tune filling the silence. The amber liquid burned pleasantly in his throat, warming him from the inside out. How many bottles had it been this week? He hadn’t counted.

He didn’t feel well, but as usual, he tried to hide it. Since returning from Fortuna Island, he had taken any job he could find, working himself to exhaustion, drinking himself numb. He missed his family. He missed his brother. No matter how much time passed, the loss still stung.

That bastard… who would’ve thought Vergil had a son? Dante thought he’d finally moved on. He was so close to ridding himself of the nightmares. But the news had caught him off guard.

Nero looked so much like his father. Same damn attitude, too. A bittersweet smile touched Dante’s lips, but quickly faded as his mind wandered back to his childhood home, and the fire that took everything from him.

A creak of the double doors snapped him out of it. A fresh breeze swept into the room, cold spreading across the floorboards.

At that moment, he knew he wasn’t getting any rest tonight.

Good. He could use some distraction.

He was running out of booze, anyway.

A flash of lightning revealed the silhouette of a tall woman standing in the dark doorway. She took a step inside. The warm light from the room enveloped her, cutting her out of the darkness outside.

She looked good. Her brown hair was damp from the rain, the long front strands curled into waves from the moisture. Despite her plain appearance, something about her told him she didn’t mind attention. 

A black bodysuit clung to her like a second skin, the zipper undone just enough to reveal a triangle of a cotton top beneath. A cropped jacket draped over her shoulders, showing off her waist and the bodysuit’s high-cut sides that emphasized her curves. She revealed just enough skin to intrigue a man yet leave him wondering what was under those blue jeans and baggy jacket.

“Well, hello there.” Her voice carried a playful drawl as she strode toward his desk. “Dante. The owner of Devil May Cry, if I’m not mistaken?”

“The one and only.”

He bit back a low whistle of appreciation. His gaze slid down her body, appraising this new acquaintance. A gun—gold and silver, catching the red neon glow from his bar sign. Black military boots, dirt still clinging to them.

Not as easy as she first seemed.

Dante tilted his head slightly.

“Rough night?”

“You have no idea.”

She rolled her green eyes with a frustrated groan, trying to fix the wet mess of her hair. After a few seconds she gave up, resigned to her shabby look. It didn’t stop her from acting relaxed, almost familiar, despite this being their first meeting.

“So, I heard you have a big sword and you know how to use it.”

She smiled and leaned forward, palms on the edge of his desk.

“My name is Vivian. But you can call me Viv. Nice to meet you, handsome.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

He watched as she stretched out a gloved hand for a handshake. Her boldness surprised him. Usually, he liked to call women he barely knew “babes” and enjoy their reactions. But this time, someone used his own trick against him.

She didn’t bother hiding her flirtatious tone. Not that it meant much. She would not get her way with him so easily.

Dante was no stranger to the nasty habits some women had—seducing him, trying to use him. Sometimes women flirted by trying to shoot him in the face or stab him with his own sword. Others only wanted to sleep with him to brag about a night with a “demon freak.”

After years of failure, he’d given up on finding anything meaningful. It made him wary, especially of women who threw themselves at him.

“And yeah,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve got a sword. Been swinging it around since I was a kid. Why do you wanna know?”

Something flickered in Vivian’s green eyes. She still held her hand out for that handshake, lips pursed as she tried to gather her thoughts. It seemed she was having a hard time finding the right words, or rather, having a hard time voicing them. She exhaled quietly, and the crooked smile faltered—turned into a frown, then twisted back into something awkward.

“Ugh, I’ll regret this part, but…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “As much as I hate to admit it, I’m a damsel. And I’m in distress. I need someone to kill the demon bastard who almost finished me.”

The lady act dropped. She said it straight, not afraid to lace it with vulgarity, just to let off steam. She’d fought a demon recently—and lost. Despite her playful nature, she was serious this time. Not a hint of hesitation in her voice.

Her brows furrowed. Her eyes locked on Dante.

“I need your help.”

Now this was something Dante could understand. A damsel in distress—he’d seen plenty. Same tune, old as the world. But the way she got straight to the point about what she needed surprised him. So… no usual female tricks? 

As the first impression of her pretty face faded, Dante caught more. Exhaustion. Hidden behind a confident smile. He knew that trick too well not to notice.

He narrowed his eyes; the corners crinkling softly, betraying his age. He had mixed feelings about this potential gig, but curiosity got the better of him.

“Hmm… I dunno, baby. I only accept jobs that pay well. The question is—how much can you pay?”

Vivian brightened immediately, relief flickering across her face. Her lips curled into a smile, playful once again.

“Enough to buy the whole wine shop and still have some left to clean this dump until it shines.”

She pointed a thumb at the pile of junk shoved under the stairs.

“Touché.”

Dante ran a hand through his gray hair with a grumble. The place was a wreck, no denying it. Pizza boxes stacked on the desk. Papers and trash strewn everywhere. Liquor bottles of every brand—wine, whiskey, rum, cheap beer—sprawled across the floor like trophies.

But the mess didn’t bother him. These days, he was barely home anyway. As long as he had a roof over his head and a bed to sleep in, he was fine with it. Besides, cleaning wasn't part of his usual hunt-drink-bed routine.

Her answer was vague, but the story intrigued him. He couldn’t help but try to even the score in their banter. Dante wasn’t used to giving in to a battle of wit so easily. 

“So you want me to beat the hell out of a demon… What happened—you couldn’t do it yourself? You look like a capable merc. Why else would a fine lady like you carry such a big gun? Self-defense?”

He smirked and tilted his head to the side, holding back the urge to ask if she even knew how to use it. A mocking, smug grin plastered on his lips, so familiar to his enemies, so annoying, yet so charming.

He wasn’t worried about her, not really. He just wanted to hear the end of the story. Besides, pissing her off was fun—and fun was one of the few things Dante still loved.

The flirtatious mask cracked. Vivian’s eyebrow twitched in irritation. She hated explaining herself, especially when it meant admitting failure.

“Let’s start with the fact that I wasn’t born with a sword up my ass.”

She quipped it with a smirk to match his own, her tone hovering between teasing and hostile.

Vivian had a sharp tongue. She tried to rein it in, to act to please him, but it wasn’t going well—or so she thought. Dante saw right through it. She wasn’t the type to grovel or beg, and he respected that. His reputation as the strongest devil hunter didn’t scare her into submission. To her, he was just another person—half-demon or not.

“Unfortunately, although I have many talents, being a demon-killing machine isn’t one of them,” she added with a shrug.

Her casual tone slipped into something more thoughtful. For the first time, she tried to process what had happened. The lingering adrenaline numbed her pain and dulled her feelings, making the whole situation feel surreal, as if she’d only been watching from a distance. 

An involuntary witness instead of a victim.

“I’m a gunslinger.”

Viv sat down on the edge of his desk, looking away. Arms crossed over her chest—though the gesture looked less casual and more like a makeshift shield. Her shoulders hunched. Fingers dug into the khaki fabric of her jacket.

The blood-red gleam of countless little eyes flashed before her eyes.

“I’m good at shooting from a distance. But this thing… it teleported right in front of me. Long story short—I rushed in for quick cash and almost got myself killed.”

The hum of the ceiling fan and the soft click of the jukebox changing tracks tugged her back to reality. She took a deep breath, straightened her back and forced herself to relax.

She couldn’t afford to look weak. Not now.

So she did the one thing she knew best.

Pretend.

“So. Since that infernal bastard bruised my fragile ego, and my gear is still out there somewhere, I need you to take him down. I want my goods back.”

Dante chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. The woman was like an emotional roller coaster, flipping from banter to raw honesty in seconds.

He couldn’t decide if it was her personality, or just shock.

“Okay, so you got your ass handed to you. Not surprised, really.”

Despite the mocking tone, his voice stayed calm, collected. The fact that he wasn’t even insulted by her crude sword comment surprised him.

Oddly enough, he found her honesty—borderline pretentious—as endearing as it was entertaining. It made him listen instead of tossing her out.

“Alright. Tell me more, gorgeous.”

Dante stretched lazily in his chair, hands clasped behind his head.

“You can’t expect me to help without details.”

“Hah. Wish I’d known them before taking this job.”

It hadn’t seemed like anything special. Vivian got the gig the usual way—through one of her trusted contacts. She had connections among local occultists and charlatans, the kind who always had rumors of work for any devil hunter willing to get their hands dirty. And Viv was one of them.

Sometimes demonic activity turned out to be nothing more than a client’s vivid imagination and a string of coincidences. Vivian didn’t mind wasting her time on false calls; it was easy money. Desperate and scared to death, people would pay for anything that comforted them.

This time, the client was a local big shot—an ambitious man with little faith. He bought an abandoned factory the townsfolk swore was haunted, shrugging off the rumors. Perfect for his new project, he thought. But then workers started vanishing without a trace.

When two drunkards went missing, it was enough for the crew to throw a tantrum and abandon the site, refusing to work in such a hellish place.

This man had offered double if she closed the gig fast. No time to gather intel. No time to play it safe. Just fix the problem, quick. There was a fortune at stake.

“And you went there right away? Alone?”

Dante raised a gray eyebrow, half-amused, half-scolding. She seemed sharp enough, but apparently even a smartass could do something reckless with a fat wad of bills waved in her face.

“They pay for a devil hunter, not an elimination team,” Vivian shot back, defensive. “Of course I went by myself. I can handle lesser demons. My arsenal is enough for that. I just thought it was another false call—or some weakling spooking the workers. I didn’t expect something this fast and deadly.”

“Fast and deadly, huh?”

His ears perked up. The words hit a familiar spark. Dante loved a worthy opponent—one that could get his blood pumping. Weak demons were dull, like rescuing kittens from trees: noble, but boring. These days he needed either adrenaline or alcohol in his system to feel alive. He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice, but curiosity leaked through.

“And what did your demon look like? Does it have a name?”

“I didn’t exactly have time to introduce myself.” A weary sigh followed Vivian’s shrug. “I stumbled upon it in one of the old warehouses on the factory grounds. And, well… it was a hell of an abomination. That much I know.”

She reached for the pen on his desk and bent over the paper, sketching quickly. Her green eyes narrowed in the dim light as she scribbled a rough layout of the factory grounds. Brown curls curtained her face, and she tucked a long strand behind her ear. In the sheet's corner, she added a crude drawing of the demon.

It wasn’t art, but it got the point across.

The creature had a small body and eight long legs—thin, almost fragile, like a spider you could crush under a boot. At first Dante wasn’t impressed. Then he caught the note she’d scrawled beside it: nine feet tall.

Alright. Maybe not her boot.

The sketch didn’t tell him much, but it definitely wasn’t one of the regular pests he’d seen crawling out of hell.

“Well, it does look ugly.”

Dante dropped his feet from the desk and leaned forward, smirking as he studied her drawing.

“I’m no artist after all. Just wait until you see it.” Vivian smiled faintly, setting the pen aside. The humor was small, but it helped her loosen the tension that had been making her rattle off words too fast.

“Anything else I need to know?”

“Not much. Just… know that it moves fast,” Viv said briefly, careful not to stir the memories too much. She wasn’t used to being prey. She was a hunter. There was nothing she couldn't finish with a well-aimed bullet.

Still, the silhouette of that large, skinny spider haunted her even in thought. A shiver ran down her spine as she tried to push away the image of small eyes, glowing ominous red like the tips of the smoldering cigarettes she smoked too often.

Maybe it was a divine sign to quit this bad habit. 

The point is, it wasn't the scary monster she’d expect to see. Not the large roaring beast with sharp claws and teeth, ready to tear her apart, no. 

It was something worse.

The thing was something she couldn't predict. Weird and twisted. Disgusting. Almost shapeless in how its limbs moved, disappearing in black-pitch body in one place and growing back in another. It was getting into her head, paralyzing with a primal fear that seeped into her veins like poison. 

She reluctantly added a few more details, fighting the rising dread. 

“The thing is barely visible in the dark, which makes it a nightmare to aim at. And that it’s skinny doesn’t help either. It closed the distance in the blink of an eye—I didn’t even see it move until it was too late. Had to drop my gear and get out of there.”

“And you came out of that mess with no major injuries?”

Dante leaned forward, casually resting his forearms on the desk. His eyes swept over her again, searching for damage. Aside from bruised knees, and a torn jacket—neither exactly in the top ten causes of death for a devil hunter—she looked surprisingly intact.

“You must be one hell of a lucky girl.”

“Why, thank you,” Vivian said, stretching out one long leg with feigned grace. She slapped her knee right over the tear in her jeans. “These legs not only look good, but they move fast when I need to run for my life. Now, all jokes aside…”

Her antics made his smile widen.

Dante’s gaze drifted upward her leg and lingered on a patch of bare skin, where the high cutout of her bodysuit revealed the curve of her hipbone. The soft skin looked tempting—just a reach away.

The thought made his mouth feel dry.

He scoffed and reached a half-empty bottle of Jack, taking a swig before cracking another mocking comment.

“Okay, you just ran away. I see... Not the bravest move for a devil hunter,” he teased, a smug look on his face.

“But maybe it was the smartest one you did tonight. After coming for help, of course.”

“Hey, cowardice is underrated. It keeps you alive.”

Vivian parried, fighting the urge to be passive aggressive. She sulked and crossed her arms, making the cleavage even more noticeable by pushing her full breasts upwards, out of the corner of her eye she noticed Dante’s gaze fixed on her chest and took a mental note.

“My corpse’d be no use, anyway.” 

“Hah. Fair enough. Besides, if you had died—”

“If I had died, we’d never have met.”

She interrupted, tasting a sweet revenge for his mocking at the horizon.

Viv leaned forward, looking in his eyes defiantly, a small smirk on her lips.

“And you’d never have a chance to stare at my chest. See something you like?”

Dante almost choked on his whiskey. He wasn’t used to women calling him out on his bullshit and being so… unapologetically blunt. The way she just blatantly pointed out his ogling caused his mind to short-circuit for just one moment, something that was a rarity for him.

It’s not like she’s wrong, he had been staring.

A faint blush crept onto his cheeks, a hint of red showing through the gray stubble—if she looked close enough.

“Uhh… No? I mean, yes. Maybe?” 

He muttered, embarrassed for the first time in a while. 

Now it was his time to be defensive. He snapped, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Whatever. Do you want me to help or not?”

A small mole beneath her lower lip followed the corner of her mouth as it lifted into a crooked smirk. Her voice took on a teasing note.

“No need to be so sensitive—stare all you want. I enjoy the view just as much.”

She looked down at him, pleased with herself.

“Like, these?” She waved a hand at his toned chest. “Masterpiece. It must be one hell of a sword if your pecs are buffed like that.”

It was annoying, but somehow it eased the tension between them. The girl had a rare gift of brightening any awkward situation by acting so over the top, that he didn't even feel embarrassed anymore. Her silly lines flipped the tables, made him look at his past self when he was doing exactly the same. 

Was he really like that when he cracked a cheesy line to impress a girl?

“Aww, don’t push it. I can still kick you out, you know?”

Dante threatened her, forcing a frown to keep it cool. But his lips twitched to curl in a stupid smile, ruining the ‘tough guy’ image. She knew he wasn't serious, but she didn't want to try her luck for the second time.

“Okay, okay,” she lifted her hands in the air, still giggling. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. No more teasing. I still need you to beat that creep.”

She sighed, pulling herself together. Her face softened. Eyes took a gentle look as she stared back at Dante. 

Vivian finally felt at ease because of their little back-and-forth banter. Relief washed over her, giving new strength to face her nightmare one more time. After all the dread and danger she faced, it was nice to relax and play the fool for a moment.

“Good.” He made a pinching gesture, squinting at her. “Because I was this close to showing you the door.”

“Don’t worry, I can be a good girl when I need to.”

She hopped from the desk, her heavy boots landed on the weary carpet with a soft thud. She didn't look back at him, as if knowing he was already hooked for a good fight. She just headed straight to the exit, determined to close the gig that almost cost her life.

Every step she took now was full of real confidence instead of a feigned act. With such an ally on her side, she could take care not just of one demon, but a whole damn horde.

Vivian waved her hand, calling Dante to follow. 

“Come on, that demon won’t be waiting for long.”