mississippi boys, inner city boys

you were destined for the glory, the honor and the fame
i was destined for the bullet, to be the gun with no name

“Essentially.” Astaroth hums, though white dragons for him in his youth had been a combination of mortifying and mystifying, and without the worries of being an Ancient and turning to stone, he can recall a few times he’d had to find cover whenever one flew above. But as they reorient themselves in bed and the warmth of Danta drapes him now, the butcher finds it all that much more relaxing – sinking into the pillows and winding his arms tight around the other Ancient, quite content despite pressing a few of Danta’s buttons earlier.

Buttons that don’t seem to bother him that much at the moment with the laugh that rumbles out of his chest to his apology. “Mm, goodnight, darling.” Asta hums, head shifting a little to keep his cheek pressed against Danta’s crown, indulging in the soft kiss left behind against his neck and the way the Maverick’s buried his face against his skin. He isn’t that tired yet, so as Danta sinks into sleep, his hands will continue to smooth and trace patterns into his back beneath the blankets as he tries to lull himself into his own slumber.

Astaroth

fate's been playing the long game on us, sweetheart