you could call me babe for the weekend

Astaroth

// but if you think I'm misery,

“You should.” He supplies instantly – like he has done a lot of tearing of lace – though not for the reasons she might think. And despite the deeply, now ingrained, love of finery and beautiful fabrics and clothing, Astaroth’s chaos comes from finding a particular relief and desire in hearing lace in particular rrriiippp. “Provided it’s thin enough, it makes for quite a satisfactory feeling.” His tone almost sounds nostalgic with it – not that he would tear into the lace here, but perhaps they should consider getting a yard or two of lace just to simply shred.

It's that thought that has his fingertips twitching at her hips, especially as one presses in harder against his palm. He watches her with a hint of intensity creeping into the honey of his gaze, as her hand travels along the bulk of her cleavage on perfect display, as she curls up against him and angles her back against his chest, arm wrapped around his neck. It’s like a siren song and his head angles in a bit further to chase her scent Flora by Gucci was it? but it puts him in the prime spot to also make sure his teeth marks hadn’t lingered in her torn shoulder. A low hum slips from him in answer to her question, dark eyes chasing the rainbow effect as it dances across her golden skin, and the hand not pressed in against her hip slips to rest against her stomach as if keeping her there for at the very least a few moments longer.

“You have the honors of being my first.” He teases her lightly, his accented voice rumbling nearer to her neck – a dangerous space to be, but thankfully the butcher is restrained as is. They are in public, after all. “I find it fun to be charming and aloof.” He offers her honestly, though he leaves out the fact that it’s a perfect cover to hide any of his other motivations.

then baby, all the company,
it never leaves me alone, no //