#danken

[strawberrystepmom]

royalty au - knight!dante x princess!reader.

cw: significant age difference (15 years)

established relationship, masturbation and using it to be a menace (dante this time). screenshot thanks to jas over on pinterest <3 | wc: 1.9k, reading time: ~5 minutes

What was meant to be an afternoon spent preparing for an evening’s dinner with the King and Queen has become something far different following one simple question.

“Have you ever been in love before, your grace?”

Your ever loyal knight Dante asks from his post across your bedroom.

The question makes your blood run cold.

“Why do you ask?”

You cast him a glance from the corner of your eye. The man lies sprawled across your chaise, one arm tossed over the top and the other dangling so that his knuckles rest on the floor below.

“No reason.” He looks up and over the arm of the longue, making eye contact with you. “I merely overheard a conversation between Madeline and Elizabeth while they were waiting for you to arrive for bed a few nights ago and found their conversation fascinating.”

You pale, eyes widening in horror. The names of your two closest chambermaids being uttered in the first place is enough to make your blood run cold, the women stocked with a plethora of knowledge about you.

“And what exactly did you find so fascinating?”

You turn on your stool until your knees face the knight, resting your palms on them to appear unaffected.

“Just a short tale about the castle’s very own future Queen crying and begging for the safe return of the Devil of the Killing Fields while he was off at war. Sound familiar?”

Oh you’re going to…pass out. The room spins and you exhale sharply, mouth filling with saliva and shoulders rounding in on themselves. Dante shifts where he sits, no longer in repose but choosing to sit up and watch you to make sure you are alright.

You toss him an icy glance and lift your hand from your knee to present him your palm, signifying he should remain in place.

There is no possible chance of you being able to handle yourself if he were to come close to you at this moment, not with such a devastating secret no longer under wraps. Clearing your throat, you reposition yourself and plaster on a diplomatic smile.

“A young woman found comfort in the mythology surrounding a heroic figure keeping her safe, will you mock her for such?”

The man chuckles and shakes his head, rising to his feet. “Never, in fact I find it very sweet.”

He approaches your space and stands next to you in the large mirror, both of your reflections side by side. One man reaching for a grape, clearly thrilled with himself, and one woman who appears as though she’s coming down with something. You can’t bear to look at it any longer so you turn away, only looking up long enough to catch the man popping a fruit into his mouth.

“I won’t mock her but I will ask this former young woman to give me the honest truth.”

Sighing impatiently, you shrug. “And what truth is that?”

“You demanded that your father make me your knight, didn’t you?”

Your stomach twists into a knot. He’s put you on the spot quicker than your wit can come up with something to dissuade further question. The truth is more complicated than that but there remains no sense in lying or further complicating the story with facts that do not change what happened.

“Yes I did.”

It’s a mumble, fit for a little girl in trouble and not a grown woman or future sovereign leader.

It’s the tone you take every time, hoping to play on his sympathies.

Sometimes it works. Unfortunately, this evening isn’t about to be one of them.

“Hmm.” Dante muses in response.

The man bends at the waist, now eye level with you. He doesn’t appear angry, something you’ve never known him to be anyway. You feel small. Pinned, even. Kept in place by wise blue eyes despite how much higher above him you are atop the world which you both inhabit.

“Why did you do that, your grace?”

Simple off the face yet you know the question is loaded. For a passing beat, you remember who you are and square your shoulders while lifting your head. Your eyes do not move an inch though, too greedy to move away from the thatch of silver hair that makes your dry mouth long to mewl with desire.

“You’ve been at your post for more than ten years, why has this suddenly come up?”

A fire that is not quite so sordid rises in you. “You forget your place, Ser,” you spit.

He chuckles, thick fingers reaching for the waistband of his pants.

“No.” He shakes his head, tugging the laces and releasing the slack of the fabric keeping him clothed from the waist down.

The pants sag around his hips and he brings them down just low enough to expose the base of his cock. The heat in your cheeks feels dangerous yet you decide to keep your eyes where they lie.

“You decided my place is here, in your service, so very long ago and I’d like to know why after all this time.”

Gaze locked on his defiant little show, you raise a brow. “I could call a guard right no—“

“Then do it.” He smirks though you pretend not to see it out of your peripheral vision. “If you find me so presumptuous and repugnant then do it and I will be removed from your service permanently.”

What little courage you contained to begin with has surely taken its last breath. You now dare to look up from the hard, half exposed length to catch him looking down at you.

“Are you in love with me, Princess?”

“I may…” you trail off, swallowing thickly. “I may have found myself very fond of the mythology surrounding The Devil of the Killing Fields at one point in my life though that is no secret.”

Nor is it a crime. Embarrassing? Unfathomably so, even more such when it’s being used as a means to confront you. Clearly amused by his own antics, you watch in shock while he lifts his palm to his mouth to spit into it.

“But how about me, Ser Dante? The man himself?” He rasps, drool dripping from his lower lip.

Heat shoots from your cheeks to your chest and lower, your stomach and the paradise between your legs, watching such an erotic display. You don’t stop him though, mouth widening in surprise and closing tightly.

“What’s got your tongue today?” He coos, closing his hand around the heavy length and girth of himself that he pulls free from leather. “It is quite unlike you to have so little to say.”

You turn your head insolently, refusing to participate in his sick game.

“Come on. I have always been honest with you, your grace.”

Now you turn to face him incredulously, eyes wide with fury. “No you have not been.”

“When?”

Laughing humorlessly, you toss your hands up.

“You cannot find even the faintest memory of me in your head before now?”

Focused on his pleasure rather than your hysterics, he worries his lower lip between his teeth and stares at you with heavily lidded eyes. The emotions on your face are near priceless and broad in their feelings - horror from arousal to frustration and back - and the strength of such emotions spurs him to continue.

Clearly this is a good way to get a rise out of you. He’s always in search of those.

“On my sixteenth birthday you told me you would marry me someday.”

His eyes widen in surprise that you cannot find it in yourself to believe is from pleasure. He was 31 years old and one night away from returning to a war he believed may take his life.

“Ah yes, it appears now you recall,” you smirk.

You’re angry, seething even, but he’s too good to look away from. He clearly isn’t disturbed enough to stop his self pleasure, hissing under his breath while you continue and bracing himself with one hand on the top of your vanity.

In fact, you think it may be the very thing spurring him on. Your heart aches, selfish as ever where the brave youngest son of Sparda is concerned. You’ve been possessive of him your entire life though your will mattered little while you had less power, forced to share him with battlefield and diplomat alike.

The anger in you grows, more than a decade's worth of frustration clawing its way up your throat.

“I went to bed that evening believing more than I’d ever believed in anything that you would someday be my husband.” Now you’re chuckling though it lacks the same merriment as his. “Then you left the next day to go fight a battle, bloody as any have ever been in our history.”

Exhaling, you center yourself and focus on the movement of his knuckles and the veins you can make out that run on both the top and bottom of his shaft between his movements.

“So to answer your utterly priggish question Ser Dante, yes I am in love with you.

Gnawing your lower lip, nearly succumbing to the temptation just beyond the reach of your fingertips, you look up at him. “I have been since my girlhood to my great shame.”

Shame appears to have left the building, the knight not merely smiling but grinning ear to ear. He recalls that night only vaguely - a drunken blur thanks to a night of debauchery before the inevitable morning and orders to report to battle took effect.

He does not remember making such a promise but cannot say for certain he didn’t.

“We ca - fuck - we cannot marry now that you’ve made me your knight,” he reminds you while maintaining the same pressure of his stroke, making a circle with his index finger and thumb to squeeze the heavy crown of himself.

“True as that may be, I can at least be assured of your safety if you’re with me.”

His smile dims slightly, taken aback.

“I believe you may have this protector and protected business confused.”

Shaking your head, you inhale to center yourself.

“Of the pair of us, I am the one with the power here.”

His hand makes another pass from his tip to his base and back. “Is that so?”

“Unless things have changed and I missed it,” you toss back at him, reaching to join his ministrations on his shaft only to be stopped halfway.

His hand wraps around your wrist. “No.”

Twice in one evening he’s told you no. It must be a record for anyone to do such a thing.

“You have my sword,” he grunts.

“My soul.”

Another low howl from his chest that makes you whimper in response, heat crawling through your body.

“My life if you so call for it.”

His panting grows heavy, chest heaving and dotted with sweat. You memorize every outline of well honed muscle and each scar your hungry eyes can drink in, arm still locked in his firm but gentle grasp.

“Even my heart as well.”

You gasp cautiously, uncertain if he’s continuing to poke at your embarrassment. Choosing cautious optimism, your eyes dart between his handsome features and his beautiful balls that sway gently with his hard strokes.

“But perhaps I will make you wait for this until you are less petulant and quicker to be honest, Princess. What do you think about that?“

You shake your head desperately, body naturally crying out for you to insist you do not need to wait. It appears you will not have the chance to give him such a pleasure though because with a mighty groan and his head tossed back toward your bedroom ceiling, Dante paints his fist with his release.

[54prowl]

happy birthday @strawberrystepmom 🎈🎉

[wmlz]

„Je mehr man dankt, um so mehr bekommt man zum Danken.“

Theodor Fliedner

[my-life-fm]

[strawberrystepmom]

this maker is so coooool i made some of my favs who are hard to make bc there are never the right pieces plus the new one….also did a little editing naturally bc fit with my fantasy or else.

dante and i got caught, gen’s annoyed to be there, senku is taking a short break from having the worlds largest brain, and yami is telling me all the better ways we could be spending our time.

open tagging <3333

y’all i know it’s well past valentine’s day now but...

behold: a cute couple maker!!! 💗 🥰 💕

i made my fo4 oc candace monroe with preston garvey, kaeya alberich and i (“but kaeya doesn’t have dreadlocks in game—” shhh 🤫 the hair options aren’t great for him so i input my own personal hcs), and jing yuan (if he had significantly less gorgeous fluffy hair) and i ✨

no pressure tags (but i wanna see y’all with your fo’s or your ocs 👀) — @mars-colony @heavenfelll @blue-dream-rhapsody @aurorasgate @rhinegust @sylviegirly @screamingcrows @zzzenos @kazuinvocation @savedbysinners @rossithepixie @strawberrystepmom

[slayerofsadness]

Man muss nicht viele Freunde haben im leben ,aber die Richtigen um glücklich zu sein !

Manchmal muss man so viele Jahre leben um zu verstehen was es bedeutet die Richtigen Freunde an seiner Seite zu haben .

Vertrauen und und die Richtige Beziehung ist das A und O bei einer guten Freundschaft.

Aber auch in denn Besten Freundschaften wird man mal sich Mal nicht einig, oder man streitet sich, letztendlich ist es wichtig,das man sich Toleriert und Akzeptiert. Und weiterhin füreinander da ist .

Ich persönlich Versuche für meine Freunde da zu sein.Sie tatkräftig zu unterstützen und ihnen die Kraft zu geben, die sie brauchen wenn sie ein schlechten Tag haben .Gibt man ihnen viel Liebe, bekommt man sie auch zurück . Und es gibt nix schöneres wenn freunde einen selber Zuneigung,Trost und ein motivieren an schlechten Tagen.

Ich weiß es ist nicht einfach so eine Beziehung in stand zu halten . Aber bei denn richtigen Freunden,ist es das Wert . Und ihr seit Glücklicher

Danke das es euch gibt ! Was würde ich nur ohne euch machen ❤️🫶

[skidar]

There is so much chaotic bar dnd shenanigans that led to this that I wouldn't know where to begin but here's a fun poster I made for my bar dnd crew of The Dankening. A 6 week ordeal of all different tables of people attempting to thwart an evil reverse-centaur, Dank Dave, from taking over the world.

[strawberrystepmom]

dante x f!reader. established...something. reader is a magic anthropologist and they're both in their thirties. this is full of cringe banter and innuendo i'm so sawryyyyyyy | wc 1.6k, reading time: 7 minutes.

“What are you doing here?”

You’ve been aware of Dante’s slow creep down the aisle of the largest archive of metaphysical knowledge this godforsaken place has to offer for some time. You finally call out to him across messy stacks of books.

Foolishly, you hoped he wouldn’t make a game out of this. He strides up to you confidently, clearly thrilled to finally have forced you to be the first to break. This is familiar territory for you and him both, where all of your “career” related activities are conducted and where he comes to find you when he’s looked everywhere else without a trace.

Leaning against the shelf, he folds his arms over his chest and tilts his head to the side.

“I’m researching obviously.”

You look up from the shelf in front of you with a raised brow only to be met with a pair of familiar eyes trained directly at the curve of your chest and whatever peak of skin is pushed up over your neckline. 

“Yeah, researching how far you can look down my shirt from that grand height you stand at.”

Caught, the gunslinger’s eyes drift toward your face without an ounce of shame in them. 

“And what about it?”

Your stance shifts from flat footed to standing on your tiptoes, arm extended high above your head with your thumb and forefinger reaching toward the tip of his nose to flick it. As sharply reflexed as he has ever been, he dodges the attack and captures your hand in his, spreading your fingers and pressing the heel of your hand against his lips.

Allowing him a moment to sniff your wrist and shoot his best half lidded glance downward, you end it quickly by snatching your arm from his grasp and placing it down at your side. A flaming face that belongs to you turns back toward the shelves to hide your thrill at his public flirtation, insisting upon keeping things polite while you’re working billable hours.

“What do you need, Dante?”

He wishes he could press another kiss at the delicate bend of your wrist.

“A break. A drink. Lots and lots and lots of money. Right now though? Information.”

Sighing, he leans against the bookshelf and holds out his forearms for you to place the ever growing stack you’re working with upon. Wrinkling your nose, you look between him and the books and he holds out his arms and shakes his head leaving you optionless. 

“What about?” You stack a book and then another, looking up at him to find him already staring down at you. “God don’t look at me like that, just tell me what you want.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head.

“Well, you, of course.” 

It takes all of your strength not to turn and walk away if only to be left alone from his tormenting. You’re good at holding your own, especially against the gruff figures who come to you in search of knowledge of demonology or the magical arts you’ve so raptly committed your life to seeking and holding yet it’s different with Dante.

The two of you have been very good friends since the spring of your early twenties. You’ve, at the very least, slept together for almost that entire time too - entering your thirties in each other’s arms. Constantly picking each other’s brains, running from each other when things got rough and back toward each other when they’ve improved or the lonely nights wouldn’t abate on their own. He’s almost sort of a…companion despite your distaste for defining characteristics.

A boyfriend who lives a life too dangerous for attachment, his very clear one to you cast aside. A man you think about when you wake and sleep both, hoping he’ll visit your dreams on the off chance he isn’t by your side. 

Enough of that. You clear your throat to feign impatience and force him to answer.

“I need to borrow that brain and how good you are at figuring out where to find shit in here.”

Laughing, you raise both of your brows.

“It’s alphabetical. Did you forget your letters or what?”

He leans downward, a larger frame closing in and you sidestep him slightly, pretending preoccupation with the books on the portion of the shelf in front of you.

“I forget everything when you’re around.”

Scoffing, you yank a book off of the shelf. “Okay now you’re laying it on a little too thick.”

Looking around the library, you know it’s futile to refuse him. There hasn’t been a moment in the past ten years you’ve told him no in any meaningful way and surely you won’t start today.

“I’m working—” he raises his eyebrows and gasps at the words, feigning shock and you shake your head to dissuade him from continuing with his show. Working is all you’ve seemed to be doing these days, spending days and nights alike with books spread across the small expanse of your apartment leaving little time for extracurricular fun. “But I can make time to help out if you promise you’ll let me handle the research I’m being paid for first.”

“I could pay you too, y’know. My methods may be a little unconventional compared to whatever this mysterious patron is paying you with,” he raises a brow and you roll your eyes. “You’d be rewarded very, very well if you’d only put the books down for one night.”

The innuendo is dripping from his every word. If you knew less about how much he meant what he’s saying perhaps you could play it off better yet your cheeks flame. You know how his rough hands feel at the base of your spine and the dip of your waist, swearing you can feel them drag across you. 

“Oh by the way, what’s the name of that demon you needed me to research?”

Attempting to gain a little bit of control over yourself and the situation, you change the subject and pretend you can’t taste him as clear as day in your mouth, memories doing more than you need them to right now.

“It’s, uh, H…” he trails off, giving up the effort of continuing his tall tale. Another sigh, another beat passes and he furrows his brows. 

You always manage to expertly cut him down to size, a curse and a blessing all at the same time. 

“I’ve been trying to see you for weeks, honey.”

You shake your head. “Days. It has been days since the last time we saw each other and you spent the night despite saying you were leaving before I passed out.”

No chance of wiggling out of this one.

“In my defense, they’ve felt like weeks. Months.”

Shoulders sagging, you lean forward and press yourself against the bookshelf and a pitiful excuse for a frown, the upturned corners of your mouth you can’t seem to put down any time he’s around giving you away. “Sorry for neglecting you. Unfortunately, a girl’s gotta eat and pay rent.”

Of course, there’s no offer made to assist you with either of those things considering he has to work pretty hard for both of them himself. 

“And while we’re discussing it, you don’t have to pay me with that.” 

If you weren’t in public you’d say what you mean - fucking - but it’s easier to simply allude to the late nights spent taking out your mutual grief and frustration with physical release when company you don’t know may be lurking around. Shaking your head, you turn your attention back to the shelves and stack another book atop the rest. 

“In fact, if we both had more of it to spare, just spending time with you would be payment enough.”

If he’s taken aback he does his best to hide it, shifting slightly and covering his face partially by turning it in the direction of the darkened other end of the aisle. 

“See, all this time I thought you only liked me for my body,” he lets slip.

Softly giggling, you pause all other movement besides the rise and fall of your chest and the focus of your gaze upon the man beside you though his gaze remains averted.

“Nah, I hate to say it but I enjoy your company most of all.”

Now he’s drawn back, looking at you with a bit of doubt clouding those steel blue eyes to which you notice and shrug at. “We have the best conversations. You make me laugh; you never make me feel like it’s inconvenient to liste–”

Your words are swallowed by Dante’s mouth before you can get them out. Those quick reflexes worked to bring him close to you before you could even notice, soft lips pressed against a slightly drier, rougher pair. 

“Well when you put it that way,” he mutters against your lips. You laugh against his mouth, lips curving perfectly into his. 

It’s all almost too sweet to bear. Strangely boyfriend-y for a man you’re so apprehensive to refer to as such. 

A stranger breezes past the two of you in the aisle and pretends not to gawk. Despite the hairs standing up on the back of your neck, you let the natural scrap of shame you have remaining go the way everything else does when Dante’s around.

It disappears, evaporates. Leaves only the two of you behind. 

“You can stick around if you don’t have anything better to do,” you tell him, finally breaking away.

Groaning, he redistributes the weight of the books across his arms and stands up so he’s no longer slouching.

“Can’t we take them back to your place?”

Shaking your head, you rap your knuckles against the heaviest metal spine bound book at the bottom of the pile.

“Nope, the rules dictate that this one stays here and I need it the most.”

Smirking, he leans in closer to you. “Then we’ll just have to have some fun here.”

Tossing another book atop the now chin height stack he’s carrying, you shoot him a look that says everything he needs to know. The private booth in the back the two of you occupied the last time he decided to bother you at work is available today.

[strawberrystepmom]

this is so clever 😭 thanks for starting us off <3

this is dante’s song. no context allowed so divine it for yourself my friends….

Reblog this with your fave and a song you associate with them.

No context. Just a name and a song ✨

Let me start... This is Toji's song for me

[kaddyssammlung]

Oh no! Oh nein! Nürnberg! Allmächd! Can't handle this! Maybe I need to talk myself into going there. Maybe not. Still too much to handle to be around humans who behave a certain way (drinking...still have a problem with that). But it's Nürnberg XD

I should not have seen this.

[strawberrystepmom]

"it's too bright, sweetness," dante groans when the sunlight reaches through the curtain to shine over him, tossing his forearm over his face.

"then close your eyes and make it dark again." kendall tuts, leaning over to kiss him good morning.

our space is not minimal by any stretch of the imagination and he teases me constantly about doubting anyone even realizes that a man lives there. that's where the need to peacock on the balcony comes from. cozy, bright, a lot cleaner than his loft above devil may cry but not any more organized.

home life with → silas + naoya – ver. 1

what's up mtv? welcome to our crib ¬‿¬ most of the decorating is done by yours truly. natural wood, ambient lighting, pops of orange, and luscious plants that are only alive because naoya is a plant whisperer. sprinkled throughout are my trinkets and zen'in family heirlooms. almost everything is vintage and/or secondhand. top right corner is naoya's beloved hairless cat affectionately named chikin, almost always wearing a little sweater because he gets cold.

open tags → rb and show me the inside of your selfship home!

[discofitta]

berlin has such good public transport i wish i was less stupid so it didn’t confuse me so much

[here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can]

eRhEbEt DiE hErZeN wIr HaBeN sIe BeIm HeRrN

[emptyxthrone]

Jetzt bist du meine Lieblingsblog. Danke. 💕

ohhh vielen Dank! 🤗

[strawberrystepmom]

dante x f!reader. established relationship. just a very romantic fluff piece. don’t perceive me please. | wc 1k, reading time: ~5 minutes.

The sun rises twice in Dante’s world.

The first time, the one he always looks upon less favorably out of the two, is when the light peeks through the obnoxiously large spaces between the slats of your bedroom blinds. It’s a beam of sunlight, a spark dancing across the wooden floor that becomes a beacon that lights up the wall in half an hour’s time. He listens to your chest rise and fall, counting each breath with every second that passes.

Air in, air out. Air in, air out.

If he’s lucky, you’ll even make one of those precious noises he refers to as your morning gripes - whimpers and raspy whines, a fist dragged across your face that eventually opens itself and becomes fingers wrapped around his forearm. Or his bicep. Or his side. Any part of him you can touch.

Even subconsciously you reach for him. You can be anything when you dream yet you’re still his.

On occasion this ritual of watching you in your delicate humanity, something he prides himself on keeping safe, will lull him back to sleep. The softness of your breathing and the warmth of your hand anchor him back into his body, whatever ghosts of the past that still haunt his head whooshed away like clouds on a spring day.

Sometimes he’s a heavy sleeper, sometimes he’s a light sleeper. This morning, he must be going through one of those light phases.

So he gently turns over in bed, laying on his side facing you and propping his head up with his fist. The position gives him a better vantage point to look down at you, his hands itching to reach out and touch you even as you rest so peacefully. Your normally animed face is so relaxed, no worried eyebrows or smirking mouth he loves so much.

How did he end up with heaven in his bed?

Sighing contentedly, he finally settles back into bed beside you, arm reaching to pull you against his side. You groan weakly but feel no sense of danger or at least not enough to pop those pretty eyes open and see who is manhandling you.

You know it’s him. He’d never let anything happen to you.

Settled with his shoulders pressed against comfortable sheets, Dante allows himself to drift back off even as that spark crawls up the wall and becomes a golden drenched room. Sleep may evade him but at least he’ll be able to relax by your side.

Now the second time the sun rises, his favorite, is when he looks over through bleary eyes and spots the curve of your smile forming.

You’re attempting to move slowly and quietly, nuzzling into his side until your face connects with muscle and skin. Placing a kiss against the closest piece of him your lips can touch, he wonders if you realize he’s awake and oh so blissfully aware of your existence; your shine and how you’ve brightened every corner of his life.

Dante’s heart beats quickly - still - every time you touch him.

It’s a rhythmic reminder that you are as fearlessly and devoutly his as you have been since the first day. That younger you who grabbed him by the shoulder all those years ago and assured him that she’d be there no matter what hasn’t let him down yet.

You‘ve never let him down. Not once.

Dragging your face across his side, you lift your head long enough to press your cheek to his bare chest and reach up to press the tip of his nose with your finger.

You did that the first time you ever met him, too.

“You awake up there?”

Ever astute, you appear to have caught him mostly pretending to sleep.

“Just barely,” he mumbles, feigning a yawn and stretching his arm before letting it come to rest stretched across your hip with a hand settled on your ass.

“How long have you been up for?”

His fingers knead your skin, his other hand finding your shoulders to press you closer to him. A soft kiss is placed against your temple, his scruffy chin and lips resting there a moment.

“Not all that long sweetheart, honestly.” Gazing down at you through heavily lidded eyes.” It’s the damn light that comes through those blinds that gets me every time.”

Frowning, you shoot him a skeptical glance.

“No bad dreams?”

He shakes his head, drawing a line up and down your upper arm with his thumb.

“Nah, I’ve got something special to ward that scary shit away.”

Any skepticism softens immediately. You bat your lashes, turning your head to rest your chin on his pec.

“Aww, me?”

That smirk you’ve always been in love with finds itself on his face.

“Nah, two guns. A sword too.”

Refusing to bite the sarcastic bait you were left, you choose instead to sit up and gradually straddle him. Two soft palms cup his cheeks and press his face together.

“Don’t be mean before you’ve brought my coffee.”

The reminder makes him chuckle softly and he captures one of your hands, dragging it to his lips to kiss every finger and its tip. His other hand naturally finds the base of your spine, pressing you downward so that you rest on his chest.

“Of course it’s thanks to you.” You smile at his words, pressing yourself against his chest so you can look up at him. “Everything good I have I have thanks to you.”

His heartbeat is audible, that song you know all too well. Heavy thumps, strong as his footsteps across the loft when he comes home.

“Now would you let me up so I can go get your coffee, your highness?”

Shaking your head playfully, you sink as closely as you can against his skin and he just scoffs.

“Then I guess I’ll just bring you along.”

Shouting in protest and attempting to scramble away proves fruitless as he scoops you up, backs of your thighs resting on his arms and your legs wrapped around his waist. You continue to mumble and giggle, unable to shake free of his hold.

Dante smiles serenely, kissing your temple once again.

Now that his Sun has risen all the way, his day can begin.

[stolzes-herz]

Du bist die Sonne in meinem Herzen, die auch scheint, wenn es mir schlecht geht und dafür möchte ich dir danken.