#its always Vergil bullying hours

[icycoldninja]

May I please request headcanons for the Sparda boys + V finding out that their girlfriend has a very high sex drive but she tries to hide it due to being shamed in the past?

Sure, sure! Here ya go and enjoy!

Sparda boys + V x Fem!Reader with high sex drive headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-When Dante learned you had a high drive, he was thrilled.

-He didn't give two shits whether or not people had bullied or shamed you for it in the past--you were here with him now, and he was gonna treat you right.

-Now, any normal person would be tired out after a single round with Dante, but not you!

-You're a real baddie, able to last for hours on end. And if his human form ain't enough to satisfy you, then there's always his Devil Trigger, or maybe even his Sin Devil Trigger, if that doesn't do the trick.

-When demon mating season comes along, he'll be glad you're around for...umm...purposes.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil has never been bothered by mortal things such as "sex drive", so upon learning you have a high one, he remains indifferent.

-HOWEVER, demon mating season is a different story, as during this time, all demons and half demons will want to...well...breed. Naturally, these lustful creatures will want someone who can keep up with them.

-Vergil's glad you have such a high drive because it means he doesn't have to hold back. He can go as hard and fast as he wants, without worry of hurting you.

-He can even Trigger, something he rarely does during sex, and literally go all out.

-Watch out, girl, Vergil might actually wear you out for once.

□ Nero □

-Nero was really excited when he heard of how high your sex drive was.

-He couldn't believe people had actually shamed you for it--wasn't being good in bed a good thing?!

-Nero then decided to take it upon himself to push your body past its limits, with the help of his prosthetic arm, of course.

-He'll utilize it like a vibrator; the double stimulation will drive you crazy in a matter of minutes, leading to complete exhaustion after a just few hours.

-Nero might not undergo mating season, but there is a seasonal period where he'll be extra horny and needs you for satisfaction. (thank 1/4 demon genetics for that)

● V ●

-V isn't really familiar with what sex drive is, or why you have a high one, but after some research, deems it to be "interesting".

-He showers you with praise to alleviate any lingering negativity brought on by your past, and if he wasn't so physically weak, he swears he would ravage you for hours.

-Instead, however, he will torture you for hours using his dexterous fingers and tongue, bringing you continuous, shuddering orgasms for hours and hours.

-Since V is not a demon, he doesn't undergo any mating periods or gets seasonal lust, but is ready to please when you get horny.

-Just...don't be too rough with him--he has his limits.

[delennsatai]

DMC Gen Week: day 2

Paradise Regained

Summary: 15-year-old Vergil finally finds out who he really is--and that he has a twin brother out there somewhere. Features a flashback to his childhood with Dante.

Part of @dmcgenweek Day 2 Prompt: Hug/Competition

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20025409

Autumn leaves skittered past his feet like tumbleweeds and the jacket of his school uniform didn’t do much to keep out the chill of October’s relentless wind. The cold couldn’t stop him, though, not today. He’d been distracted all day, barely able to focus on classes over the anticipation buzzing in his mind. He felt wired, wide awake but far away. The nagging feeling that he’d forgotten the most important thing he’d ever known had plagued him for eight years, ever since he woke up to parents who solemnly told him he’d been in an accident and suffered near-total amnesia. “Vergil? You don’t remember us, do you? It’s all right. We’re just grateful you survived.” He knew there was more to it, though he couldn’t have articulated what made him so certain. He just…knew.

Fortunately, his parents rarely cared what he did after school as long as he got his homework done and remembered to eat something. So today was the day he’d learn the truth. An invisible string—maybe it was destiny, he thought—yanked him through the gate and down the street with an alacrity that was a far cry from his usual measured pace. Someone called his name as he passed, but he pretended not to hear them. The bullies left him alone now, after he’d finally lost his temper and nearly crushed their leader’s windpipe against a locker (no one believed the story afterward—"you mean creepy Vergil, the one who carries his laptop everywhere to avoid talking to people? you’re kidding, right?”) but that didn’t really fill him with confidence in his classmates’ goodwill. Someone always wanted what he had, wanted to show him they were better, wanted to put him in his place.

Maybe after today he’d know what his place was supposed to be.

It had taken over a year of dogged (mostly illegal) research, false leads, and sketchy late-night meetings that took him through all the bad parts of town, but he’d finally tracked down an address. He wasn’t even sure exactly what it meant. He just knew that once he dug deeply enough, there was no record of a boy named Vergil—or any child at all—being born to Mr. and Mrs. Sheffield, and the only clue he could find to his real heritage was an abandoned, condemned building on the outskirts of Limbo City.

Rounding a corner, he saw it: a long driveway leading through a tall, wrought-iron gate. Atop the gate, the word “PARADISE” beckoned. He scoffed, a brief chuckle of disbelief, but he couldn’t completely disdain it. It was too familiar, somehow.

He all but ran the last few yards before grasping the padlock holding the gate closed and yanking hard, smiling in satisfaction as it came apart in his hand. No one had ever been able to explain to him why he was so much stronger and faster than other boys his age, and after a few…incidents, he stopped demonstrating it in front of people. He hoped his parents would just forget, or assume it had gone away somehow. They never mentioned it again, anyway, and he gladly kept that particular silence.

He pushed the gate open and surveyed the estate with questing eyes. It was larger than where he lived now and surely used to be almost palatial in its grandeur. Now, it looked like a tornado had ripped through it while a fire raged across the ruined gardens and grounds. What the hell happened here?

The front door wasn’t locked. He opened it into a long corridor, letting the crisp wind in to blow dust up in little clouds at his feet. He paused when he reached the grand hall, with its sweeping double staircase and massive crystal chandelier. Well, he thought, if this really is where I used to live, my real family is absolutely loaded.

But where were they? What happened to them?

He pulled the little blue amulet that hung around his neck out from under his shirt and ran his fingers over it thoughtfully. His parents(?) claimed it had been a birthday gift from them years ago, but that never felt right. Looking at it made him feel alone. Lonely, even. But he wore it all the time, hoping it would one day remind him of whatever he’d forgotten that was so crucial.

The longer he walked through the mansion’s halls, hushed as death, the more he remembered it, like a hazy dream. He knew that through this door he’d find the kitchen, and he knew before he saw it that it would be almost drab by comparison to the rest of this place. Servants did the cooking. He almost thought he could hear their muted chatter for a moment, see their looks of faux disapproval as the two boys swiped cookies and ran off, giggling. “My cookie’s bigger!” “No it isn’t, mine is!” “Well, mine has more chocolate chips!”

Wait…two boys?

He had to see more. Some of the stairs were broken, but he made his way up to the second floor and followed his instincts to a tall, elegant room lined with bookshelves. The décor throughout the mansion was odd in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Macabre, maybe. It felt right, though, and this room gave him a gut-hollowing feeling of awe that threatened to drown him in its wave of nostalgia. A portrait hung in the center of one wall. The man in the painting looked like some kind of knight, with sword and shield; but his face was obscured, obliterated in an obviously deliberate attack on its canvas. Vergil felt like the knight was staring down at him from an impossibly huge height, one he could never hope to reach. The nameplate underneath said “Sparda.”

He felt a warmth pulsing at his chest. …the amulet? He lifted it, and sure enough, it was warm to the touch—and glowing with a faint blue light. This is it. Something’s about to happen. I’ve never been more ready.

***

“Giving up, Vergil?”

“N…no!” It wasn’t fair, he thought, forcing himself to keep going even though his arm ached, and Dante was clearly winning. Dante always won. Dante was stronger and he could practice for longer without getting tired. They were twins, they were supposed to be the same! He’d have to keep practicing until he was just as strong and tough.

“Okay, but I’m not going easy on you!” Dante laughed and Vergil was forced to back away from his brother’s endless advance. They crisscrossed the room, still clashing madly with their wooden swords. Vergil didn’t want to lose again. He wanted to prove to Father he was as good with swords as Dante was. Maybe he’d give the twins real swords, then.

“Ha!” Dante brought his weapon down with both hands. Vergil tried to parry it, but his strength gave out and Dante’s sword thumped him hard in the chest. He fell, eyes widening as the impact with the floor knocked the wind out of him.

“I win again!” Dante shouted, but he paused when he saw Vergil gasping for breath instead of getting up. “Hey, are you okay?”

Vergil felt warm tears start to well up in his eyes. He desperately tried to blink them back. He couldn’t cry in front of Dante! His brother reached down to help him up, but once on his feet he wobbled, hunched over trying to get his lungs working right again.

“Whoa…” Dante stared with a stupid, owlish look on his face. Vergil might have laughed if he could breathe without wheezing. But after a moment, the dark-haired boy dropped his wooden sword and came over to put an arm around his twin’s shoulders, helping him onto the bed and sitting with him. Vergil couldn’t help it, then; a rogue tear escaped, sliding down his face like a traitor.

“Don’t worry, Vergil, you’re gonna be fine,” Dante said, wrapping his arms around his brother the way their mother always did when they were hurt or upset, patting him awkwardly on the back before letting go. As Vergil’s breathing evened out, he added, “I guess I’m so good at swords it took your breath away!”

Vergil almost choked again as he suddenly burst into giggles, hastily wiping his face. “Nuh uh,” he said, “next time I’ll win.”

“Bet you a cookie you’re wrong.”

“You don’t even have a cookie.” Vergil slid down from the bed. “Race you to the kitchen!” He took off before Dante even had a chance to say anything, leaving his brother to shout “Hey!” and scramble to catch up.

***

Vergil gasped, feeling a strange pressure at his back as the memory faded, along with a clear but fleeting impression of a place with a green sky and a red tree, an impossibly warped cityscape. He struggled to quickly drop his backpack, and as it fell, a flash of white-blue light surrounded him. It was gone in a blink, but in its place, he found he was holding a long, slim katana sheathed in a plain black scabbard.

Dante…I have a twin brother. I remember him. And this…

With an air of reverence, he held the sheath in his left hand and slowly pulled the blade out with his right. It gleamed in the fading autumn light. He thought he could hear a voice whisper its name: “Yamato.” And, “This sword is yours, Vergil. It’s a part of you now.”

He slashed experimentally, feeling more than hearing a sonorous hum as the blade seemed to cut right through the air itself, sharper than the sharpest razor. He glanced around the room at bookshelf upon bookshelf of old-fashioned volumes with crumbling leather spines. The rest of the answers were here, he was sure of it. He’d have to explore the house, try to remember more…but first, he wanted to know about Sparda. My father, he mentally corrected himself. His real father. And a brother he’d lost, and a mother he couldn’t quite recall. His eyes roamed the shelves eagerly as he began his self-education in demonology and the legend of the nephilim.

Hours later, when the sun had set and he was reduced to reading by the light of his cell phone, his stomach reminded him with a surly grumble that he hadn’t eaten dinner and his parents…no, the Sheffields…were probably wondering where he was. He’d have to come back tomorrow. He carefully stashed the sword—Yamato—and a few books in his backpack, feeling like the whole world had opened up to him all at once in a rush of fresh air and possibilities.

Later, he’d remember the coppery stench of blood and the sound of Sparda calling his sons’ names in a desperate hiss; the hellish snarling of demons sniffing for Vergil up and down the house as he cowered in a closet holding his breath. He’d return to the lost city in his soul’s dreams and slay monsters until he felt power bubbling up from within him like a geyser. He’d teach himself how to find and open rifts into Limbo, and explore the demonic realm with a curiosity bordering on obsession. He’d endure nightmares he couldn’t explain to his foster family even when he woke up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, and eventually, he’d leave that house without a word and never go back.

But for now, all he could think about was returning to Paradise, and about how one day, he’d bring his twin brother there, too.