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The ivory linen didn't have the stiff, heavy rustle of taffeta. It fell in soft, heavy folds, gathered at the waist by forest-green embroidery that looked less like a stitched pattern and more like living moss climbing up a stone wall. The sleeves were wide, hanging loose over your wrists and tapering down to sharp points over the backs of your hands. Your hair was pinned back in loose twists, woven with tiny sprigs of white baby’s breath and held together by a few tarnished gold pins that caught the stained glass light whenever you moved.
The makeup was simple. Just a bit of color on your cheeks and a soft stain on your lips. The full glame look just wasn't for you. Not today. You just looked like a cleaner, sharper version of yourself.
Your hands, though, were a complete mess. You tried smoothing down the front of the bodice and skirt, but your fingers shook so badly the fabric visibly rippled under your palms. Your chest was tight, and the reality of the day made it feel impossible to get a full breath of air into your lungs.
A shave-and-a-haircut knock sounded against the wooden door.
"Hey," Leon’s muted voice carried through the panel. "Time’s up. Music’s starting. You ready in there?"
You swallowed hard, trying to clear your dry throat. "Leon, come in here for a second."
The door swung open and your brother stepped inside. He was wearing a dark charcoal suit that actually fit his lean frame perfectly, his hair combed back neatly. He looked sharp and completely calm, but the second his eyes landed on you, his posture shifted, a brief crack showing in his usual poker face. He took a quiet breath, adjusting his cuffs.
"You look incredible," Leon said, stepping closer. "Really."
"My hands won't stop shaking," you whispered, holding them out. "Leon, I feel like I'm about to jump out of a plane."
"You're not jumping," his voice was completely steady as he offered his arm. "You're just walking. Let's go."
The double doors to the chapel opened and the acoustic music started up. With your hand tucked into Leon’s elbow, the room turned into a quick blur of familiar faces. To your left, your sister Danny stood at the front in a sage-green gown, aggressively chewing her gum and flashing you a chaotic double-thumbs-up. Nico sat in the front row, sobbing straight into a grease-stained rag while Nero awkwardly patted her back. Kyrie was smiling, her eyes bright. Right beside them, your mother had a lace handkerchief pressed to her face, looking up at you with a proud, watery smile. Trish and Lady sat together in the back row, looking like undercover security.
You took a breath, your heart skipping beats, and then looked down to the end of the aisle.
You nearly froze.
Dante was standing by the altar. The scuffed red leather coat and the faded shirt were completely gone. Instead, he was wearing a sharp, black three-piece suit. His hair was brushed back, his broad shoulders filling out the tailored jacket in a way that looked genuinely intimidating. Standing right next to him as the best man was Vergil, also stripped of his iconic coat and wearing an immaculate, razor-sharp suit (the same color as Leon's) that looked like it cost more than Dante's entire shop.
As you walked, Vergil’s cold eyes stayed locked on you, tracking your steps, but your brain was completely sputtering over your groom.
It felt entirely wrong. The man at the altar looked like nobility, not the lazy dork who left pizza boxes all over the office.
Panic hit you all at once. Your feet felt like lead, and you instinctively tried to take a step back, your grip tightening hard on Leon’s arm.
Leon didn't budge. His frame stayed solid. Instead of letting you pull away, he clamped his hand firmly over yours, locking your arm against his side. He didn't even turn his head. He just kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, his mouth barely moving as he spoke in a whisper.
"It's just clothes, get over it," Leon muttered. "I paid a fortune for this venue, the food is already in the back, and you are getting married today. Keep moving."
A breathless laugh escaped your lips, the sudden spike of humor breaking the paralyzing spell. You let out a shaky exhale, your eyes locking back onto Dante. He was standing completely still, his hands clenched at his sides, his blue eyes wide and fixed entirely on you with the exact same look of terrified awe. He was just as panicked by the suit as you were.
When you finally reached the altar, Leon stopped, looking between the two of you. He gave your hand one last, firm squeeze before letting go. He looked Dante dead in the eye, his voice low and warning. "Break her heart, and I'll bury you."
Dante didn't even blink as he gave a single nod. "Understood."
Leon stepped back into the pews next to your mother, and Dante took a step forward, reaching for your hands. But before he could grab them, you leaned in, catching him completely off guard.
"Come here," you whispered.
You reached up, running your fingers through his neatly brushed hair, aggressively tugging and tousling the strands until the stiff styling fell apart, letting it fall back into its usual, messy frame around his face.
Dante froze, his eyes widening as you leaned closer to his ear, keeping your voice low enough for just the two of you. "Why did you shave? And oh my god... is that actual cologne?"
A sudden, genuine flush of color hit Dante’s neck, creeping up into his cheeks. The terrified, stiff-soldier posture melted instantly, his broad shoulders dropping as a small, helpless smirk broke through his nerves. He looked down at you, his eyes softening into the familiar, warm gaze you knew by heart.
"Lady made me buy it," he muttered back, his rough voice completely real now. "Said I couldn't smell like a dog today. And the hair took three hours, by the way."
"You look better messy," you smiled, finally letting your hands drop into his warm, slightly damp palms. He was nervous. It was a relief, knowing you weren't the only one.
The officiant cleared his throat, hiding a small smile as he turned the ceremony over to the two of you. "We'll begin with the bride's vows," they announced.
You took a deep breath, looking up at Dante. You reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair away from his forehead, just needing to touch him to steady yourself. Your voice was quiet, but it stayed steady.
"Dante, I'm not looking to marry a legend, and I'm not looking for a martyr," you said. "I know exactly who you are, and I know what you've had to carry by yourself for a long time. But I'm not something caught in the crossfire of your life. I'm choosing to be here. I promise to stand by you through the quiet days and the chaotic ones. You don't have to keep watch alone anymore. My hand is in yours."
Dante didn't move. The restless, cocky look he always wore just dropped away. He stared down at you, his jaw clenching tight. His eyes got watery under the chapel lights, but he didn't blink, like he was trying to memorize your face.
From the front row, Nero broke the silence, leaning forward with a sharp grin. "Are you crying, old man? No way."
A few people in the pews snorted. Your mother quickly reached over and swatted Nero’s arm to shut him up.
Dante didn't even turn his head toward his nephew. He just kept his eyes locked right on yours, his voice a rough, tight murmur as he squeezed your fingers. "Shut up, kid.""
He exhaled to steady himself and reached into the pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out the folded piece of yellow paper, unfolding it with rough, awkward fingers. He stared down at it for a long second, his brow furrowing as he tried to read the tight cursive script.
"To bind your life to a bloodline born of ruin..." Dante started, his voice sounding entirely wrong using those words. He stopped, squinting at the page. "...I have spent a lifetime defined by a conflict I never sought..."
Dante let out a breath through his nose. He looked up at you, then glanced over his shoulder at Vergil.
Vergil was standing perfectly straight, his arms crossed over his chest, giving his twin a look of absolute, chilly disappointment.
"Yeah, I can't read this crap," Dante muttered.
He crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it right at Vergil's chest. Vergil caught it out of the air without even shifting his stance, his expression turning to stone.
Dante turned back to you, stepping in closer until the toes of his dress shoes almost touched yours. He took both of your hands back in his. His palms were warm and still a little damp with sweat. He looked down at your joined fingers for a long moment, his throat moving as he swallowed hard.
When he looked back up, he looked completely exposed. His voice dropped to a low murmur that carried through the small chapel without any effort.
"Look," he said quietly. "I don't have a speech. I don't know how to talk like him, and I'm not going to stand here and fake it. But I know what my life was before you walked in. It was a mess. I was just killing time."
He stopped. He rubbed his thumb in a slow circle over the back of your knuckles, his grip firm against yours.
"I don't ever want to go back to that," the words came out quiet but with gravity. "I… I love you. That's it. That's all I've got."
The words just hung in the air. He wasn't trying to be funny, and there was no sarcasm left in him. He was just standing there, giving you everything he had in front of the only people who mattered to him.
A laugh escaped your lips, half-choked, as a tear finally spilled over your lashes. You looked up at him, tightening your grip on his hands.
"Through the mess?" you whispered.
Dante's mouth curved into a real, relieved smile, the tension finally leaving his shoulders.
"And then some."
The officiant smiled, stepping back into the center to look at the two of you. "By the power vested in me, and before your family and friends, it is my distinct honor to pronounce you husband and wife." The officiant looked over at Dante. "You may kiss your bride."
Dante didn't hesitate. He let go of your hands, his arms coming around your waist to pull you flush against his chest. The expensive fabric of his suit jacket pressed against your linen dress, warm and solid.
But right before he leaned down, he caught your eye. The intense emotional weight from the vows cleared out, replaced by that familiar, cocky light in his eyes. A grin spread across his face—the exact look he got right before finishing off a demon lord.
"Jackpot."
He leaned in and kissed you, hard and real, his hands gripping your waist to lift you slightly off your feet.
The chapel pews immediately grew loud. Nico let out a piercing whistle that rattled the stained glass, and Nero shouted something rowdy from the front row that got cut off by your mother hitting him again. And right beside, you could hear Danny cheering over the noise. Dante didn't care about any of it; he just kept his arms locked around you, laughing against your lips as he finally broke the kiss and pulled back to look down at you.
The doors to the reception hall opened, and the noise hit you immediately. The room smelled like roasted garlic, smoked brisket, and rosemary potatoes. As the bridal party walked in to take their seats at the long head table, Dante was already working on ruining the formal atmosphere. He had found a bunch of balloons tied to the back of his chair, pinched the neck of a white one, and sucked in a massive breath of helium.
He looked straight across the table at his twin brother. "Where's your motivation, Vergil," Dante squeaked, his voice three octaves too high.
Vergil closed his eyes, his hands gripping against the white tablecloth. "You are an absolute embarrassment."
You sat down, swatting Dante’s arm while he let out a tiny, high-pitched laugh. "Put the balloon down," you whispered, though you couldn't help smiling. "The food hasn't even hit the table yet."
Right next to you, Danny suddenly stood up, knocking her chair back a few inches as she grabbed a champagne glass and reached for the microphone in the center of the table. "Alright, listen up, losers! As the maid of honor, I have some stories—"
Leon caught her by the forearm before she could even bring the mic to her mouth. "No," he said, his voice flat and final. "No, you're not doing this."
Danny blinked, squinting down at him. "Come on, Leon, I have a whole bit about the time Dante got his head stuck in the office banister."
"Sit down, Danny," Leon repeated. He gently but firmly took the microphone out of her hand and pushed her back into her seat. Danny groaned, crossing her arms while taking care not to spill the champagne and slumping down, aggressively chewing her gum.
Leon adjusted his cuffs again, rolling his white sleeves up to his forearms, and turned to face the crowded tables. The room quieted down instantly. His face was entirely unreadable as he looked from you to Dante.
"I'm not big on public speaking," Leon admitted into the mic, his calm voice carrying easily across the hall. "But since I'm the one footing the bill for this entire day, I get the first word. When my sister first told me she was dating a guy who lives in a trash heap and sleeps on a dirty office couch, I honestly thought she had lost her mind. I was ready to have her committed."
Dante let out a loud, proud laugh, leaning back in his chair and raising his glass.
"But as the months went by," Leon continued, his voice softening just a fraction as his eyes found yours, "I watched the two of them. I saw the way he looked at her, and I realized she truly loved him. She was happy. And for her, that's all that matters. So I paid for it. The venue, the brisket you're about to eat, the ring on her finger—all of it. It was worth every cent just to see my sister look the way she does today."
Leon paused, turning his eyes back to Dante. The slight warmth completely vanished from his face, replaced by his usual cold, deadpan stare.
"That being said, I am keeping an itemized record of every single expense. The tab is open, Dante, and you will be paying me back. Every single dollar. I don't care how many demon contracts it takes. To my sister, I love you. To my new brother-in-law, your debt starts tomorrow. Let's eat."
Nero let out a loud whistle, clapping aggressively as Leon took a slow sip of his bourbon and sat back down, perfectly satisfied.
Before anyone could actually start passing the platters, Vergil stood up. He adjusted the buttons of his charcoal jacket with slow precision and cleared his throat. The head table went quiet under his chilly gaze. He held a glass of sparkling water, his posture completely rigid.
"A formal bond is a matter of absolute seriousness," Vergil voice carried that precision he always used. "My brother is a creature of basic impulse. He lacks discipline, manners, and any form of sensible intellect. It is a genuine miracle of human tolerance that he has managed to secure a partnership at all."
Dante just chewed on a bread roll, giving Vergil a lazy salute from across the table.
"You have chosen to align yourself with the Sparda lineage," Vergil continued, looking directly at you. "A bloodline defined by—"
A sharp screech of feedback suddenly rang out through the speakers.
Lady walked right up to the head table, pulling another microphone off its stand and stepping directly into Vergil's space. She looked stunning in her dress but looked completely exhausted by his lecture.
"Alright, wrap it up, Shakespeare," Lady said into the mic.
Vergil glared down his nose at her, his mouth tightening. "I was establishing the historical weight of our—"
"Nobody cares about the history, Vergil, it's a wedding," Lady cut him off, using her shoulder to firmly nudge him back a step. She turned to the tables, raising her glass with a smirk. "Look, we all know Dante is a giant idiot. But he looks at you like you hung the moon, and you're the best thing that ever happened to him. Welcome to the worst family on earth. Let's drink."
The room exploded into noise. Nero clapped, Nico cheered from the bar, and Dante laughed so hard he had to lean back in his chair, completely ignoring the fact that Vergil looked ready to draw a sword right over the dinner plates.
Later in the night, the dinner platters were cleared away and the music picked up. Dante and Danny had completely taken over the middle of the floor. A fast rock track was blasting from the speakers, and the two of them were moving like complete idiots. Dante was doing a massive air-guitar solo, sliding across the wood in his dress shoes, while Danny headbanged right along with him, her green gown swinging around her ankles.
Around the edge of the floor, the rest of the family watched the chaos. Nero sat at a table with Kyrie, leaning back and rubbing his face in second-hand embarrassment. Nico was leaning against the bar, shouting and raising her drink every time Dante tried a terrible dance move. Trish and Lady stood near the dessert table, talking to your mother, who was laughing into a napkin.
You looked away from the noise toward a dark corner at the back of the hall. Vergil sat entirely by himself at a small round table. He still had his suit jacket buttoned up, sitting perfectly straight with his hands flat on his knees, watching the dance floor with absolute disgust.
You walked over, smoothing down your dress, and pulled out the heavy wooden chair next to him. "Mind if I sit?"
Vergil didn't look surprised. He slowly turned his head to look at you, his face completely blank. "It is your reception. Sit where you want."
You leaned your elbows on the tablecloth, looking at him. "Thanks for trying with the vows, by the way."
Vergil didn't blink. He reached for his glass of water, checking the cuff of his shirt. "I have no idea what you mean."
"I have spent a lifetime defined by a conflict I never sought," you quoted softly, smiling. "Dante doesn't use words like that, Vergil. You actually tried to help him write something nice. That counts for something."
Vergil took a small sip of water and set the glass down without making a sound. "My intervention was a practical necessity. The Sparda name has survived all of these years. I refused to let it be dragged down because my brother cannot form a coherent sentence in public."
"Well, thanks anyway," you rested your chin on your hand, your tone turning warm. "It meant a lot."
The rock music finally faded out, switching over to a slower, sweeping string arrangement. On the floor, Dante theatrically dipped Danny backward, making her shriek with laughter, before the two of them stood up and started swaying in a wildly uncoordinated slow dance, entirely amused by themselves.
You stood up, smoothed your skirt, and offered Vergil your hand, palm up.
"Dance with me."
Vergil stared at your open hand like it was a bomb. His eyebrows drew together, his posture locking down. "I do not dance. Certainly not to this nonsense."
"Oh, come on," you teased, tilting your head. "Not even for the bride? You're part of the family, Vergil."
Vergil’s jaw tightened. He looked at your hand, then out at the floor, clearly weighing his absolute hatred of human domesticity against his pride. He wasn't going to slow-dance, but he refused to look defeated.
With a breath, Vergil stood up. He adjusted the front of his jacket. Instead of taking your hand, he stepped back, clicked his heels together, and gave you a stiff, completely formal courtly bow. It was entirely too dramatic for a banquet hall, a perfect show of the rigid flair he usually tried to hide.
"I honor the contract of your marriage," Vergil's voice was flat and cutting. "I do not, however, participate in pointless frivolity. Goodnight."
He turned on his heel and walked straight out through the terrace doors; his exit so perfectly timed it looked rehearsed.
The entire room noticed. Nero’s jaw dropped, his drink tilting in his hand. Nico stopped talking mid-sentence, staring with wide eyes.
On the floor, Dante and Danny ground to a complete halt. Dante’s arm stayed slung over Danny's shoulder as he stared at the empty doorway in total disbelief.
"Did he seriously just bow and leave?" Dante asked, his head frozen.
Danny squinted, her mouth open. "Total party pooper."
Dante let out a loud laugh, cupping a hand around his mouth to shout toward the terrace. "Hey, Verg! Don't let the door hit you on the way out!"
You just laughed, shaking your head as the doors swung shut.
Before Dante could start heckling Nero next, the DJ’s voice boomed over the speakers, calling everyone over to the side wall for the cutting of the cake.
Leon had clearly picked out the menu, but he had conceded on the dessert. It wasn't a stiff, formal fondant tower. It was a massive, three-tiered vanilla cake covered in thick whipped cream, with piles of fresh, glazed strawberries spilling down the sides. Dante was already eyeing it like a wolf, having completely abandoned his suit jacket on the back of his chair.
"Alright, let's get this over with so I can actually eat it," Dante beamed, taking the silver cake knife from the caterer. He gripped the handle entirely wrong, holding it like he was about to parry a demon attack rather than cut a slice of dessert.
You placed your hand over his, guiding his grip lower. "It's a cake, Dante. Just cut a straight line."
With your hand guiding his, he pressed the blade down through the soft layers, freeing a messy slice onto a small porcelain plate. The crowd gathered around, cameras flashing. Leon was leaning against a pillar, watching with a smile, while Nico loudly yelled for someone to give her a strawberry.
Dante picked up a small piece of the cake on a fork. He looked down at you, an incredibly smug smirk spreading across his face. "Open up."
You leaned in, but instead of feeding you normally, Dante flicked his wrist at the last second, deliberately smearing a thick glob of white whipped cream right across your nose.
The room erupted in a mix of groans and laughter. Dante leaned back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, his shoulders shaking with a silent laugh. "Gotcha."
You didn't even blink. You didn't wipe your nose, either. Instead, you reached straight past the fork, grabbed the rest of the slice directly off the plate with your bare hand, and slammed it flat against his freshly shaved face.
The whipped cream splattered up past his cheekbone, a stray chunk of strawberry landing right on the collar of his expensive suit shirt.
The reception room went completely wild. Danny boomed with laughter, slapping the table, and even Leon let out a rare, audible chuckle from the front row. Nero was practically doubling over.
Dante froze, his eyes wide as the cream slowly started to slide down his chin. He blinked, completely stunned for a moment, before a massive, genuine grin broke across his face. He reached up, wiped a finger through the frosting on his chin, and sucked it off his knuckle.
"Fair enough," he laughed, his voice truly happy. He leaned down, completely ignoring the mess, and planted a heavy, frosting-smeared kiss right against your lips.
You laughed into the kiss, your hands resting against his broad chest, completely content with the beautiful, chaotic life you had just signed up for.