A Knife !! || Dante Sparda ||
The house was loud in that familiar, dangerous way.
Tiny feet thundered across the hallway, wild giggles bouncing off the walls like ricocheting bullets.
You barely had time to look up from the counter before your daughter blazed past the kitchen doorway, hair flying, joy unfiltered.
“What you got there, sweetie?” you called automatically.
She skidded to a stop just long enough to proudly lift her prize over her head.
Your soul left your body, your heart stuttering as a lump formed in your throat. “NO!!” you shrieked, dropping everything and lunging forward.
Before you could even take a step, Dante's voice broke the moment of silence.
“HAHA—run, sweetheart!” Dante laughed from the couch, feet kicked up, watching this unfold like it was the funniest thing he’d seen all week.
Your daughter screamed with delight and bolted again, clutching the very real, very sharp demon-hunting knife like a trophy, cackling as she disappeared around the corner.
“You gave our CHILD a WEAPON,” you yelled, sprinting after her.
Dante shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Hey, builds character.”
“And already has great form,” he added proudly. “Look at that grip.”
You rounded the corner just in time to see your daughter try to hide behind the couch, knife held high like she was defending a castle.
“Sweetheart,” you said, forcing calm into your voice while your eye twitched, “give Mommy the knife.”
She gasped dramatically. “NO! It’s mine!”
Dante leaned over the arm of the couch. “Yeah, babe. She found it fair and square.”
You whipped around. “YOU LEFT IT ON THE COFFEE TABLE.”
“Counterpoint,” he said, holding up a finger. “She found it.”
Your daughter popped up again. “Daddy says I can keep it!”
“Oh, Daddy is about to SLEEP ON THE ROOF,” you snapped. "FAR AWAY FROM MOMMY."
Dante grinned, utterly fearless. “Worth it.”
You finally managed to gently pry the knife from tiny hands, lifting it out of reach as your daughter pouted.
“Awwww.” A pout formed on her lips as she stomped her little foot.
You exhaled shakily, clutching it to your chest. “That is not a toy.”
Dante stood, scooping her up easily and planting a kiss on her head. “She did great though. Didn’t even trip.”
He paused.“…Okay, maybe I’ll stop leaving knives where the toddler can reach them.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Maybe?”
He smiled sheepishly. “I will...Progress, babe.”
Your daughter giggled, entirely unrepentant.
And you made a mental note to demon-proof the house, because apparently baby gates weren’t designed for the daughter of Dante.