#as far as dmc is concerned. vergil's only crime is being wrong.

[scalproie]

and the worst thing is that vergil DOES sucks. genuinely

[keeroo92]

I read your post about the dmc boys helping a s/o with body image issues and I loved it 😭 can I ask for more comfort?? How would the guys help a partner who has PTSD from an assault that happened years ago? If you're uncomfortable writing that's totally fine! 💞

Soooo this got slightly out of control. I originally planned on making this a headcanon thing, but... well...

The first section is an intro to the Reader’s viewpoint, read that first and then pick your favorite guy. (Sidenote - Apologies in advance for Vergil going OOC)

Hope you enjoy!

 ____________

The past weighed heavy on your soul. Over the years, you learned how to ignore it and keep moving forward, but some scars never fully heal. It wasn’t a memory you spent much time dwelling on if you could help it.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you were over it. That person couldn’t hurt you ever again, you wouldn’t let them. You were stronger than what they did to you and never again would you surrender to them, even mentally.

Yet when your beloved partner accidentally reminded you of it, the walls shattered. The ache in your chest felt as if it was only yesterday, the tears as powerful as ever. Even after all those years.

---V---

He froze as your breathing hitched, but not in pleasure. Something was wrong, had he hurt you?

“What’s wrong, love?”

Tattooed hands left the bare flesh of your stomach to stroke your cheek. He longed to ease the pained expression on your familiar face, but you flinched back from his touch. Confusion and concern warred in his mind as he shifted away, granting you the space you so clearly needed.

The glow of the television danced across your body as the film played on, heedless and uncaring. A soft rustle accompanied your every move upon the upholstery. Only seconds before, sighs and moans filled the now silent air.

Something was terribly wrong.

“Please talk to me. Did I hurt you?” the poet begged.

You shook your head, arms and legs pulled tight to your core. “I- it’s not you.”

His heart twisted at the broken tone of your sweet voice. Restrained sniffles and shaking shoulders only heightened the sensation. He knew you far too well for you to hide your pain.

Slick fluid still coated his rapidly wilting length, the flush on his skin only barely faded. Echoes of his arousal lingered in his belly, but easing the ache was his last priority. All he cared about was restoring your smile.

“What can I do?”

At first, he thought you weren’t going to answer. By the time you finished telling the story, he wished he’d been correct.

Why did such terrible people exist? What evil needed to manifest for a person to steal your very ability to choose? How dare they, what gave them the right? He would tear them to pieces, drive stakes into their body until they begged for mercy just as you did. They’d receive the same level of compassion as they’d given you.

But not tonight.

Tonight, you needed him. His wrath could wait.

“I cannot imagine the strength required to survive that. I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “Thank you for trusting me with the truth.”

Hesitant hands reached out to you, slow enough you could easily deny his attempts to pull you into an embrace. Despite the fear and pain lingering in your eyes, you allowed it, huddling against his chest as if he could hide you from any strife.

He’d do his best.

“I’m sorry I’m like this, I thought I was past it,” you whispered. “I won’t hold it against you if you want to leave.”

You trembled in his grasp, curling inwards as another round of tears slipped free to drip from your chin. His grip only tightened, crushing you against him as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Never apologize for being in pain. Not to me.”

He paused and rubbed soothing circles across your spine, listening to your unsteady breathing. When you stopped shaking at last, he pulled back to look deep into your eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere. Now that I’ve found you, I refuse to let you go. Understood?”

You sniffled again and nodded, the first hint of a smile gracing your lips.

 Nero

In the back of his mind, he always knew. The way your eyes always searched for an exit in public spaces, how you never slept as well alone, the way you saw yourself… It all hinted at the truth, but he never pressed for the whole story. You’d tell him when you were ready. In the meantime, he did his best to support you.

As you finally broke down and spoke about it, an odd sense of joy rushed through him. It was nice to know you trusted him so much.

But the feeling didn’t last. How could he ever be happy about any aspect of it?

It didn’t matter that you barely cried. It didn’t matter that your voice was steady and constant. It didn’t matter that you didn’t push him away or let go of his hand as you spoke. No, all that mattered was how none of it should’ve ever happened.

“This is so messed up…”

He didn’t know what else to say. Words didn’t seem like enough.

“I’m working through it, bit by bit,” you said. Judging by your defensive posture, it wasn’t helping.

Nero sighed and scratched the back of his neck. He knew plenty of people who dealt with similar crap. Growing up in the orphanage exposed him to the concept before he even hit puberty. It never made sense to him, wasn’t it more enjoyable when everyone wanted it? What kind of monster preferred forcing themselves on another person?

Regardless. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone should face alone and despite his knowledge, he knew he could only do so much. He stared at the floor as blood rushed to his face. It felt strange to ask such a personal question, but considering the circumstances…

“Have you… y’know, been talking to someone?”

Your hands fidgeted the way they always did when you got nervous, picking at the seam of the bedspread. Was that because of the trauma?

“No, not for a few years,” you mumbled.

He took your hands and brought them to his lips, pressing soft kisses across the knuckles. It was important not to make you feel worse, no matter how much he wanted to scold you for not taking proper care of the issue. Support, not judgement. Understanding, not condemnation.

“I can help you find someone, when you’re ready. Anything you need, okay?”

He wrapped an arm over your shoulders and kissed the top of your head, his heart heavy and stomach twisted. What else could he do? Was anything enough?

Probably not.

But that never stopped him before.

 Dante

The devilish smirk fell from his lips the moment you started crying. He’d never seen you cry before, not once. It shocked him, if he was being totally honest.

“Babe? What’s up?”

It was clear on your face how desperately you fought whatever was troubling you. What could possibly be wrong, and why didn’t you say something? You told him everything, even the stuff he didn’t want to know.

The clatter of the cue ball breaking the rack at the next table made you jump. Raucous laughter followed soon after and the red-clad man set aside his stick. Fear and shame stained your eyes; whatever was going on, this wasn’t the place.

He took your hand and pulled you outside into the chilly evening air. Overhead, the stars shone in a pitch-black sky, no moon to be seen. Wisps of cigarette smoke drifted over from where some idiot puffed away.

“Hey, get lost,” Dante commanded.

The fool almost protested, a sneer already teasing at his mouth but Dante had no patience. He focused on his blood and allowed his eyes to shift, growling at the man until he dashed away with a terrified look. That shit never got old.

“Right. Wanna tell me what’s going on, now?”

He never would’ve imagined the tale you told him, pausing here and there to sniffle or take his hand. Pressure built in his sternum with every word, glass choking him as his hands tingled. What he wouldn’t give to take away your pain and make it like nothing ever happened.

But all he came up with was a stupid joke. “Want me to go kick their ass for ya?”

You sighed and wiped your eyes, staring at anything except his face. “No, it was my fault anyway. I should’ve been more careful or worn something else. It was my mistake.”

Oh, hell no. He was not letting you get away with that bullshit. Not in a million years. Calloused hands took careful hold of your chin and gently turned it to face his stern glare.

“That’s stupid and you know it. The only person responsible is them. They chose to… do that to you. They chose to be an ass. It’s not your fault. Don’t you ever say or even think stuff like that ever again, you hear me?”

“But-“

“No.”

A petulant frown split your tear-streaked face. “But-“

“Stop it,” he insisted.

“Dante, come on-“

“I said no, damnit!”

A hint of amusement filtered through the sorrow in your eyes. It was a start. Enough for him to drop his hand and pull you into a hug, encasing you in his body in a silent promise. He didn’t know what you needed to do to heal, but he’d be there every step of the way.

 Vergil

It explained so much. Why you didn’t like swimming or wearing a bathing suit. Why you hated going downtown. Why you were so hesitant with your affections. How had he not figured it out before? You shouldn’t have to relive it just so he understood.

As if he ever could.

Still, he’d been violated before. Scars still marked his otherwise pristine skin, not to mention those on his soul. He knew what it was to survive against all odds, and the knowledge that you did too deepened his respect for you threefold.

“I never knew,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You sat on the antique couch, hands in your lap and eyes locked on the oak parquet. Throughout your tale, he’d been pacing. The living room was the perfect size for it, even with the elaborate fireplace. The motion helped to ease the pressure to do something, anything to fix this. A way to channel his energy without causing damage.

Much as he wished to sink his blade deep into the gut of the villain in your story. Not too deep; only a slow and painful death would suffice. No mercy for such a crime.

“I’m sorry. I… I didn’t want you to know how weak I am.”

His repetitive footsteps froze. You thought yourself weak, and that he would as well. Guilt and shame mixed in his mind; how could he have allowed you to not understand? A muscle in his cheek spasmed and he whirled to kneel at your feet, an earnest look etched across his regal features as he grasped your hands in his own.

“Weakness lies not in the inability to avoid pain, but the inability to withstand it. You are not weak, quite the opposite. That you haven’t given up is a testament to your strength.”

A shaky breath slipped from your lips. What else could he do or say to help? How could he make you understand that in his eyes, you had the strength of a typhoon?

“You’re wrong, I’m a coward. I’m not strong, just too broken for them to bother killing.”

First you called yourself weak, and now broken? You couldn’t possibly think so little of yourself. Unacceptable, he wouldn’t allow it. Not anymore, at least.

He knew of only one way to piece together a wounded soul. Hopefully, it would prove sufficient for your needs. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t be with you at all times.

The pommel at his waist warmed to his touch. His oldest ally and most reliable companion, the Yamato never failed him. A pang of loss ached in his heart as he untied the strings, as if he were surrendering a portion of his own soul by holding it out to your curious eyes.

He never allowed you to touch it before.

“Take it.”

Your mouth dropped open, shock tinting your gaze. “W- what?”

He huffed and forced his arms not to retreat. “I will train you, until not a soul alive can call you anything but strong. Even yourself.”

Your trembling hands wrapped around the sheathe after a long pause. Releasing his grip sent shockwaves through his body, but somehow he managed. It was worth it if it helped you.

“I- I couldn’t! It’s yours!”

A soft smile twisted his lips as the last echoes of pain faded into static. Truthfully, the arrangement was perfect. Yamato was a part of him; nothing in the world would work harder to keep you safe. If ever you found yourself in a dire situation again, escape would be child’s play.

And in a sense, as long as you carried his blade, he was at your side.

“And now it’s yours.”

He paused, another wave of agony rushing through him as you slid the blade free. “At least until I find a suitable weapon for you.”