Dante and Vergil

Dante lounged on the couch like he owned the place, spinning his finger in the air as if declaring victory before the fight even started. Vergil stood opposite him, posture straight and calm, but his eyes glinted with that quiet, dangerous confidence he always had. “You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Vergil said, voice smooth but cutting. Dante leaned forward, elbows on his knees, that smug grin widening. “Of course. I always win against you.” Their banter snapped back and forth like sparks—playful, but serious enough that I knew they were both dead set on proving who was better. It wasn’t the first time they argued like this, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. I sat on the floor, legs crossed, watching my older brothers go at it like some kind of personal gladiator match. “This time,” Dante said, jabbing a finger toward Vergil, “when I win, Simon’s getting me snacks for a week. No complaints.” Vergil raised a brow, almost amused. “You mean when I win,” he replied coolly. “He’ll be serving me like the little brother he is. It’s only fair.” I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “Why am I always the prize?” They both turned to me in perfect sync, identical smirks on their faces. “Because you’re the youngest,” Dante said. “And therefore,” Vergil added smoothly, “our personal servant by default.” I sighed dramatically, but deep down, I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. It was their way of showing they cared—loud, competitive, and a little bit chaotic. But that’s just how our family worked.

Motorcycle Stranger

✧- "put your hand back, miss. It's too dangerous."

Dante

You stormed off, boots crunching against broken stone, every step heavier than the last. The image of Vergil holding V replayed in your mind like a wound that refused to close. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to breathe through the tightness in your chest. Why him? Why not you? Why did Vergil look at V with something close to affection, but when it came to you—his own son—there was nothing but silence? “Nero.” The voice behind you made you freeze. Dante’s voice. You didn’t turn around, didn’t want him to see the raw look on your face. “Not now,” you muttered, trying to keep your tone sharp, steady. But Dante didn’t back off. He walked until he was beside you, his usual cocky smirk nowhere to be found. He leaned against a ruined pillar, arms folded as he studied you. “You don’t have to say it. I saw it too.” You swallowed hard, eyes burning. “Then you know why I don’t want to talk about it.” “Yeah,” Dante said quietly. “But keeping it in? That’ll eat you alive faster than any demon.” He paused, tilting his head. “Vergil’s an idiot, Nero. He doesn’t know how to deal with people—hell, he barely knows how to deal with himself. V was his humanity walking around on two legs. Of course he’d treat him like something precious. But that doesn’t mean you don’t matter.” You finally looked at him, anger flickering beneath the hurt. “Then why doesn’t he show it? Why doesn’t he look at me like that? I’m his son, damn it. Isn’t that supposed to mean something?” Dante’s gaze softened. He pushed off the pillar and clapped a hand on your shoulder, firm enough to ground you. “It does. He just doesn’t know how to show it. Doesn’t mean you’re any less important. You’re family, Nero. You’ve got more of Sparda in you than either of us, and that scares him more than he’ll admit.” For a long moment, you just stood there, staring at the cracks in the ground, trying to process the weight of his words. The tightness in your chest eased, just a little. Dante gave your shoulder a squeeze, his voice dropping lower. “Don’t measure your worth by Vergil’s mistakes. You’re more than enough. And whether he ever says it or not—you’re not alone. Not while I’m here.” The words hit harder than you expected. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. For the first time since you walked away, the ache didn’t feel so unbearable.

Leon Kennedy

— 𓂅 "to next time, Leon..."

Leon Kennedy

✧ | you're late..